you, me, and the great inbetween
by xfighterplane
Summary: Higher Level Secondary Exams: "Write a detailed narrative or essay on a person who has had a profound impact on your life." In the midst of a writing exam, Massie Block comes to terms with life, love, and her tumultuous last year of high school.
1. we've got a mess on our hands

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

**_Prompt: Write a detailed narrative or essay on a person who has had a profound impact on your life._**

* * *

For the record: these exams are bullshit.

Are you all aware that these exams mean nothing in the grand scheme of life? When I'm on my deathbed, I'm not going to be thinking "Well, that HLSE essay sure did change my life! Oh, to go back to those days. I can still feel the grip of the number 2 pencil in my shaky hands..." Hell, it's not even important in the grand scheme of applying for college. I got a 32 on my ACTs and a 2280 on the SATs. I want to be an engineer (shocking! mind-blowing! the crowd gasps!), so my math and science scores are the only ones I care about. And they are, for lack of a better word, kickass.

I don't need this exam at all.

But you know what? I'll still do it. They have me sitting in this gray concrete room with the entire senior class, biting their impeccably manicured nails and pulling at their salon done hair. Turns out, I'm not allowed to leave and go to the movies, like I had hoped. And they've confiscated my phone, so I can't have my older cousin Kori call me with a "family emergency".

So, I'll humor you all. Person who changed my life profoundly? You got it.

Here's a secret: I know the kind of answer you want for this essay. You want me to write about someone like my mother, except that she's too busy trying to be the toast of Westchester town to realize that her precious jewel of a daughter doesn't want to be a vapid socialite, she wants to change the world with logic and technology. I don't want a white wedding dress, I want a white lab coat.

Or maybe you want me to write about my dad? William Block, that's the name of a champion. He's a business man, so at least he knows a little about the world. Except I can't say he's ever had a profound effect on my life, save for paying for my education at Briarwood and that chemistry kit when I was five.

Perhaps I could write about my best friends, Alicia Rivera and Dylan Marvil? Better known as Leesh and Dyl, if you've known them as long as I have (nine years). Dyl's an all-round sports fanatic, while Leesh's true home is the theater and will probably have an Academy Award before the age of twenty. But still, it's expected for me to write about them. And as much as I love them, I don't want to meet this exam's boring expectations.

No, this essay's going to be different. I'm not going to write about my parents or any family or friends, because those kind of things just go unsaid, right? And plus, you exam folks are going to have to read about mothers and grandfathers and fishing trips and other things that these Westchester kids think you guys will love. I'll make it interesting for you.

I'm going to write about Cam Fisher.

This is the part when you nearly choke on your Perrier water, adjust your bifocals, and clutch your pearls. Go on. I can wait.

Good? Great.

You might be thinking, "_She's going to write about a boy? The horror! What's next, is she going to expose her ankles in public?_"

It's okay, I'm surprised at my choice too. But I read the prompt and (after my spiel on why this exam is nonsense) his name jumped to my mind so fast I nearly got a headache. Then again, that's what Mr. Myner teaches us in English class: go with your gut instinct, it's usually the right one.

But remember one thing before I start this. I'm just an ID number to you, a test score, a statistic. Whatever I write in this standard issued booklet is just words to you, words that decide whether or not I'm ready for college.

They're more than words to me. These words somehow bind and bond together to make a story, a good one too.

So listen up, and listen clearly.

* * *

Most "romance" stories begin like this: boy meets girl in some sort of unusual situation, boy and girl connect, sparks fly, and so on and so forth. The boy and girl usually have little in common when you watch closely, but the five minutes or so where they lock eyes for the first time is crucial to the rest of the story. As they say, first impressions are everything.

I didn't meet Cam like that.

I met Cam the same way all of Briarwood met Cam: beginning of senior year as a new face and figure sauntered around the luxe school like it was his living room. If you want specifics, I got my first taste of Cam Fisher during sixth period advanced physics. Nothing says "sparks fly" like dim fluorescent lights and learning about the space-time continuum.

Unfortunately, our first meeting was put on hold as I was late to physics that day. Leesh and Dyl had coerced me into ditching the first half of school to go to the movies (alright, you got me, it was my idea first). I would've been on time, but Leesh's car is, pardon the language, a tin piece of shit. Dyl and Leesh took that as a sign from the heavens that they might as well take the rest of the day off, but there was no way in hell I was missing physics, chemistry, or math. See? I've been a good girl all along.

Sprinting down the marble floors of the math and science wing of Briarwood, I secretly commended myself for taking AP physics anyway: there were only ten people taking the class, and I was the only girl. Plus, the guys in there were strictly friends or classroom acquaintances. Therefore, I didn't feel exactly compelled to stop by the bathroom and fix my windblown hair or smooth out my rumpled uniform—who was there to impress anyway?

(Hopefully you can sense the foreshadowing and irony.)

Once I reached the classroom, I didn't bother trying to open the door quietly or make myself less noticed. I was already fifteen minutes late, after all.

I opened the door and waltzed in, trying to play off my lateness as cool as I could. Mrs. Peters, the teacher, caught eye of me and had to suppress a scoff. She's not my biggest fan, and is fully aware of my reputation at school—"brilliant" (at least in the sciences) but wasn't true at all, I at least made it back to class, right? In fact, she refused to take me in her physics class unless I promised I wouldn't ditch, like I did occasionally (read: at most twice a week) in history or literature. All I can say is, is that she's pretty effing lucky I love physics (nerdy, I know), or else I'd be hanging around the mall with Leesh and Dyl.

"Massie Block," she greeted dryly, slipping on her horned rimmed glasses, "what a pleasure for you to finally join us."

"Pleasure's all mine, Mrs. P," I responded, taking my usual seat in the middle row.

"May I ask what was so much more worthy of your time than my class?"

"Bank robbing, drug deals, jaywalking—the usual."

Now, don't go thinking I'm a disrespectful little shit (whoops, language). Mrs. P has earned my contempt, and I'm downright polite to all the other teachers. Usually when I make smart ass comments like that, a few of the guys chuckle under their breath (the ones who joke around in that class anyway) and a few guys sort of roll their eyes at me (the ones who worship the ground Mrs. P walks on).

But this time, someone straight out laughed at the exchange between us. It wasn't a stomach-clutching-tears-in-my-eye laugh, but it was more of a "ha!", but it was genuine. Like somebody thought I was just being funny and you know, not being a disrespectful little shit .

I look up and see a boy I'd never seen before standing at the front of the classroom, eyes dead locked on me. My first thought was, "How the hell didn't I notice him before?" Because trust me, he was extremely noticeable and I'm highly observant. He was tall and lean, with messy dark hair and an easy sort of grin. For whatever reason, the boy had completely disregarded the Briarwood uniform for a mechanic's shirt, brown pants ripped at the knee, and beat up sneakers. If that wasn't enough to make him a spectacle, he had the craziest eyes I've ever seen. One blue. One green. Heterochromia, if you want to get scientific. Amazing, if you want to get descriptive.

Mrs. P looked over at the boy and frowned. "That'll do for today, please take a seat so we can begin today's lecture. Open your notes class, today we'll be discussing the chaotic inflation theory..."

I couldn't help myself as I watched Eye Boy walk from the front of the classroom in search of a seat. The classroom is small, so he was going to have to sit with someone. Class valedictorian Danny Robbins clearly wanted nothing to do with the new guy, and class "rebel" Kemp Hurley looked threatened at the boy's nonchalance about the dress code.

In the back of my mind, I knew that there was one way for this to play out. But I was still surprised when the boy slid into the chair next to mine. My friends tell me that I'm always cool under pressure, but even I couldn't help but thrown off guard when his lips pulled into a half-grin and I got an up close look at his eyes.

"Hey," he whispered to me, against a backdrop of Mrs. P chattering about the chaos theory and the scratching of pencils, "I'm Cam."

* * *

**dylpickles:** so, i'm sure you're all wondering why i called this emergency IM meeting.  
**this-be-leesh:** not really, no.  
**massiekur:** you can't just keep calling these emergency IM meetings, dyl.  
**dylpickles:** and why not?  
**this-be-leesh:** because they're never emergencies! we're going to start calling you the little ginger who cried "911" if you keep this up.  
**dylpickles:** fine. but this a true emergency. there is a new boy at our beloved school.  
**this-be-leesh:** beloved? really?  
**dylpickles:** olivia ryan told allie-rose singer who told strawberry mcadams who told kemp hurley who told me that the new boy is smokin'.  
**this-be-leesh:** tell me more, tell me more, like did he have a car?  
**dylpickles**: shut it! did you see him when you got back, mass?  
**this-be-leesh:** and we mean to ask was olivia ryan and her gang of blond brats all over him yet?  
**massiekur:** yeah, i saw him. but he's nothing faint over. trust me. i gotta go, i'll see you guys in the AM. i'm feeling like making some pizza.

* * *

Instead of making pizza, I pulled up Facebook and decided to internet stalk Cam Fisher like there was no tomorrow. It took me a while, but I eventually found his page. To my surprise (not), his page was covered with random girls from Briarwood "welcoming" him to the school.

**Kristen Gregory:** Hi Cam! You might not remember me, but we have fourth period history together :) Just wanted to say hi!

**Claire Lyons:** Hey (: just showing some love, glad to have you at Briarwood!

**Olivia Ryan:** Cam! Sushi Samba tomorrow night, a bunch of us are going. Be there :)

"Damn," I thought to myself as I (disgustedly) read their comments. He had been at the school for ONE DAY and this is the kind of response he gets? Meanwhile, I've known Olivia since preschool and she still pronounces my name as "_Macy_". I hated that. I wanted to hate him on that basis alone, like who is this guy to come in my school and have everyone fawn over him? It wasn't fair, it wasn't right.

But then I'd remember his eyes, the cobalt blue one and the forest green one. And then I'd remember the way he smiled at my comebacks and chose to sit next to me. Sure, I was the only girl in there, but that couldn't have been the only reason, right?

* * *

The next day at school, it seemed like all of Briarwood was collectively over aware of Cam Fisher. Here's the thing: Briarwood's a small school. I'm assuming our senior class is barely one hundred students, and we've all known each other for far too long. So, when you throw any new fish into our old sea, people are going to notice. They all watched him intently, waiting to see which group he'd join into.

You could notice the change in people. Anarchists like Layne Abeley go overboard with protesting, hoping that Fisher would be part of the cause. Kemp Hurley and his fellow A-listers try harder to be funny, cracking jokes when Cam is around, testing his sense of humor. Olivia Ryan and her gang bring out the big designer guns, and I'll admit it, they're beautiful. He has to notice them. He had to have noticed all of them.

But he didn't.

Cam kept to himself for the most part in those first days, I noticed, almost like he was simply a spectator to the show that was Briarwood. I'd see him in the hallway sometimes, where somebody would be trying to make a fool of themselves trying to get his attention. He'd raise an eyebrow, smile in a secretive sort of way, and move on with whatever he was doing. That was it. I hadn't seen him try to start a conversation with anyone, but I couldn't get something out of my head: this was the boy who so casually sat next to me in physics and introduced himself with a grin, surely he was like this to everyone else?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Still, I was a bit of a wreck in physics. I didn't put more effort into my appearance like some other girls, but I did make it a point to be on time to that class, even if it meant missing a coffee run with Dylan and Alicia.

Cam was a few minutes late, but I hadn't even noticed he had sat down, as I was engrossed in a reading about the quantum theory. It wasn't until I smelled a combination of sandlewood, Ivory soap, and jasmine did I turn around.

"Hey," he said easily, his voice the shockingly perfect combination between interest and possible ennui. I noticed that he was in uniform today, but his white shirt was buttoned open to reveal a faded gray band shirt. The Dirty Projectors. I could dig it. Something about that kid, I swear.

"Hey," I coughed out, cursing myself for not doing anything special with my frizzy brown hair today.

He peered over my shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing, just...reading," I stammered. Please don't let him see the article, please.

He cocked his head to the side. "Looks scandalous."

"Trust me, it's not." Just incredibly lame. I tried to discreetly slide the over-the-top nerdy article under my binder, but Cam was just too quick. He grabbed it from me, his mismatched eyes widening in fake shock.

"Well, well, well," he said with a little gasp, "what do we have here? I didn't peg you for the type." He made it sound like I was catching up on my hot-and-heavy romance novels, not reading about equations and theorems.

"Give it back!" I couldn't help but shriek, lunging for the paper. He moved out the way at the last second, but that didn't stop me from trying again.

"Miss Block!" Mrs. P cried out, causing me to stop whacking Cam's arms and stare back at her in a dumbfounded gaze. "When you're finished harassing Mr. Fisher, may we get started on today's lesson? Frankly, I find it insulting that wasting our time in the classroom seems to be a hobby of yours. You are not the sun, Miss Block, we do not revolve around you." My face turned bright red, I could feel my blood boiling over. Mrs. P always had it out for me, always. And harassing Cam? He stole my article in the first place,

She needs to get laid.

As my least favorite teacher began her lecture on lord-knows-what, I had to take deep yoga style breaths Leesh taught me to calm myself down. Humiliation was a pain in the ass, and a girl like me likes to preserve her pride at all costs.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Weigh the pros and cons of slashing her tires. Exhale. Ahh.

A tiny piece of paper tickled my arm. Stealthily, I moved it out in front of me and unfolded it. The script was messy and undeniably boyish, all capital letters that blended into each other.

_"Sorry for getting you in trouble. Won't happen again. But judging by your face right now, I thought I should warn you that murder could get you in prison for life. Just putting that thought out there."_

I had to do my deep yoga breaths again, I was snickering into my palm so hard.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Cam Fisher was just sort of there. He had perfected what many of us couldn't do: he was the ultimate drifter. One day you'd see him out at a Slice of Heaven with Kemp Hurley and his lot, the next he'd be speaking in hush tones with bookworms Allie-Rose Singer about Tolstoy. It was mesmerizing, and gave us Briarwood kids something to look forward to: what would the enigmatic Cam Fisher do next?

"You know," Dylan said drowsily one lunch period, as the three of us were sitting around underneath our favorite oak tree. While Dyl stretched out and rested her head on my backpack, Alicia was focused on her math work, her least favorite subject. I flipped through one of Leesh's glamour magazines in boredom. It's strange, the way the three of us are always so connected and always giving and taking from each other. It's strange, but nice.

"Cam Fisher isn't as cute as everyone says," she finished dramatically, watching the boy out of the corner of her eye. Today he was eating alone (most likely by choice, judging by the number of girls eyeing him), but scribbling something furiously in a notebook. "I mean, objectively...Derrick Harrington's a lot hotter."

"You're only saying that because Derrick Harrington's interested in you," said Alicia fairly, to which Dyl stuck her tongue out, "but there's just something about Cam, I guess. Probably the eyes."

I rolled my eyes. "You mean the way everyone's all over his junk?" What was stranger, however, is that I couldn't stand the attention Cam got outside of physics...but when we were together in that class? I got it. I completely understood why everyone was always talking about him. He was smart, even funny (I kept his note secretly in my folder). But once I left that class, I cruelly reminded about his quickly formed fan clubs and the worst five words I could think of: I'm not the only one.

"Don't be so crass, Mass," Alicia teased with a grin.

"You're being way too sassy, Massie," Dylan joined, laughing at their overly lame rhymes. While the two started making up a song to go along with it, a shadow loomed over us. A shadow belonging to Olivia Ryan and her blond brigade.

Olivia's straight out of a bad 90s teen movie, right down to the loyal minions and too-dressy-for-high-school wardrobe. Olivia, Claire Lyons, and Kristen Gregory were highly recognizable from their matching blond hair various styles, year-long tans, and alterations of the school uniform (too tight blouses, too short skirts, and inexplicable knee socks).

They didn't intimidate me at all.

"Can I help you?" I asked politely, while three sets of blue eyes bore into me.

Instead of making a snide comment about my nonchalance about my appearance, Dyl's athletic abilities, or Leesh's musical talent, Olivia dug into her obnoxiously large handbag and pulled out three gold flyers. Obediently, Claire and Kristen handed them to us.

"What the fu—" Dylan began, only to be kicked by Alicia (who can't stand our cursing). I didn't blame Dylan for her reaction, once I read over the flyer myself.

**"OLIVIA, KRISTEN, AND CLAIRE PRESENT...**  
**THE WELCOME TO BRIARWOOD BASH IN HONOR OF CAMERON FISHER!**  
**WHERE: THE RYAN ESTATE**  
**WHEN: 8 TO WHENEVER**  
**DRESS CODE: PARTY CASUAL**  
**A NIGHT UNDER THE STARS TO WELCOME THE NEWEST STUDENT!"**

"Okay," I said after reading over the blindingly glittered flyer, "what the hell is this all about?" We were never invited to Olivia's parties, and if we were, we would never be caught dead there. Wannabe Gossip Girls and trust fund brats going psycho on a dancefloor? Please. Movie nights at anyone of our houses would be much better.

Olivia scoffed indignantly. "We're head of student council, Macy," I cringed at the butchering of my name, "and it's our duty to welcome new students." Her eyes sparkled as she said that garbage.

"Why don't you just save yourself the trouble and give him a lap dance?" Alicia asked innocently, to which Dyl and I snickered. We love it when our level minded friend gets snarky.

"Whatever, Rivera," Claire snorted. Claire hates all of us, but she hates Leesh the most ever since she snagged the lead in a school production of Cabaret. "Are you guys coming or not? We need to speak to the caterer this afternoon."

Dylan piped up excitedly. "Catering, you say?"

"She loves catered food," I explained dryly, "she's fancy like that."

Kristen cackled, and Claire and Olivia threw her the look of death. "Listen, we wouldn't invite you to one of my parties anyway," Olivia began slowly and condescendingly, "but Cam mentioned you at lunch, so..." She curled her lips at me in disapproval.

Now there's a shocker. Cam? Mentioning me? "What did he say?" I asked quizzically.

"Nothing important," Olivia sighed with boredom, "he just mentioned your name, is all. And seeing as you three are attached to the same tacky umbilical cord, we thought we'd give you a pity invite." She gave one last lingering look before saying, "Your call, Macy," and walked away with her fellow leggy minions.

"It's MASSIE!" I yelled back out in frustration. "How hard is that name, really? She can speak French, but suddenly Massie is such a stretch?" I grumbled to myself.

Alicia and Dylan stared at me in disbelief. "What?" I said testily, "it's a valid complaint!"

My two best friends exchanged a Look before Dylan locked eyes with me and said, "The kid nobody will shut up about, Cam effing Fisher mentioned you. We're going to that party, Mass," she declared with certainty.

"Have you been drinking my coffee again? I thought we discussed what caffeine does to you," I responded before turning to Alicia. "Tell her we're not going to the party, Leesh."

She shrugged. "Why not? We're never invited, might as well see what it's like."

No. Just no. I couldn't believe those two, acting like we suddenly hit up Olivia Ryan's parties for fun. Even if Fisher mentioned me. It was a mention. I mention my crazy aunt Cecelia all the time, doesn't mean I want to invite her to any parties.

"We're going," Dylan repeated with the determination she's known on the soccer field for, "we're going, whether you like it or not."

_Oh, shit._

* * *

**author's note: sorry this chapter was so beastly, I didn't mean it to be 4000 words, but it gets the story moving/set up. and personally, I like reading longer stories. Hopefully you guys like this one! Asha (commander in blue) rec'd _Dreaming of Amelia _by Jaclyn Moriary (Year of Secret Assignments :p) and I loved it! I'm so inspired by the epistolary style and making exam essays fun. This one wasn't too much of a stretch, I've actually had an exam prompt like this before.**

**This is the longest chapter, I swear.  
**

**Hope you guys like it! Be sure to leave me your thoughts!**

**xo, Ren**

Re


	2. all aboard the ss friendship

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

* * *

Friday evening. Alicia's house. Twenty minutes before the dreaded party.

There were many things wrong with the dress I had on. First of all, it was a hideous shade of fuchsia and made from a too-shiny fabric that could undoubtedly be seen from space. It had puffy short sleeves, stupid looking flower details around the neckline, and had a tutu-skirt that hit my ankles. To put it short, it was an '80s prom nightmare.

It was perfect.

Confused? Let me set it out for you: Alicia, Dylan, and I had spent all Thursday afternoon (and half of Thursday morning) scouring various stores for the perfect outfits for Olivia's party. We wanted to look nice, but not nice enough that it looked like we spent too much time on our appearances. That was my thought, at least.

And then we stopped by Sal's Thrift Store on the way home so Dylan could buy a Ramones t-shirt she's been eyeing, and we saw the fuchsia monstrosity in all it's glory.

I had to have it.

"Man," Dylan whistled as she saw me model my unstylish outfit with pride. I had teased my hair into a beehive and only did makeup on one side of my face, and even then I looked like a Rocky Horror Picture Show cast member. "Olivia's going to have an aneurysm when she sees you show up in that."

"Yeah, and she'll have a hernia when she sees _you_," I countered. After I bought my dress, Alicia and Dylan decided, on principle, that they couldn't let their beloved friend leave the house looking like that. Instead of convincing me to put the dress back and go to H&M to find something more suitable, they one-upped me.

Dylan had on a navy sequined flapper dress that would've actually been chic, she chose to style her red curls in a crazy fauxhawk and accessorize the outfit with yellow cowboy boots. But, Leesh beat us all in the tackiness competition. She wore a Victorian style wedding dress— high collar and lace and all— that she cut to her calves and dyed a neon green. What set it over the top is that she took the time to give her hair a Victorian era makeover as well.

I _love_ my friends.

"She's gonna die of jealousy," Alicia deadpanned, pinning a rose in her towering 'do, "I can feel it."

"Let's be honest," I said as I added more mascara to my right eye," who wouldn't? I actually surprised that we haven't been snatched up by a modeling agency yet." If it wasn't for the dress and seeing the collective "WTF?" face of my peers, I would've been hardcore campaigning for us to stay home and watch a good movie. The ugly gown was my saving grace.

"Alright, ladies," Dylan pulled out a clipboard from her purse. She is truly the only person who a clipboard would be an appropriate gift. Scary organized, that girl. "Here's the game plan. Dress up in the best-worst outfits we can finally find?"

"Check!" Alicia yelled out.

"Perfect. We need to leave in about ten minutes in Leesh's car. And then we'll hit Dairy Queen so Mass can get that damn Oreo Blizzard she's been whining about all day at approximately 8:04. By 8:07 well be on our way to the Ryan estate. If all goes to plan, we'll get to the party be 8:30."

I snorted. "But can we really say we're fashionably late?" Leesh and Dyl both groaned at my lame joke and threw pillows at me. The jerks.

Leesh jangled her keys impatiently. "Let's go! My neck's about to snap from the weight of my hair."

"Wait!" I cried out as my two best friends strutted outside of Alicia's room.

"What now?" Dylan asked in anguish. She really wanted to go to this party, didn't she?

I bit my half-red lip. "What's the chances of me convincing us to go to the movies instead of the party?"

They exchanged a glare before turning on their heels back to me. In one fluid motion, Leesh grabbed my legs as Dyl lifted up my arms, making me into a human bridge. No matter how hard I fought, it was two against one. Two very party anxious girls with little patience for their friend.

"Just remember," Dylan grunted as she and Alicia lifted me down the stairs and out of the house, "we're doing this for you."

* * *

An hour and half and one Oreo Blizzard later, Alicia's beat up Camry finally pulled up to the Ryan estate. Now, Leesh's dad is a big shot lawyer and could probably afford to buy her a car that didn't break down on the side of the road once every few days. But Leesh bought the Crapmobile with her own money and was too proud to accept a Mercedes. Dylan's too much of a wimp to get her license, and I got my permit revoked after an unfortunate incident involving a flock of pigeons and the Slice of Heaven wall.

So, the Crapmobile it was.

"This is all your fault, Mass," Alicia huffed as she struggled to parallel park her car between two Range Rovers, "you told us to take the long way."

"That's because you didn't want to go on the highway!" I yelled back in exasperation. "And you know the car would've broke down and we would've looked homeless waiting on the side of the street."

"That was one time!"

"Yeah, one time this week," Dylan snorted. "Chill, guys. We're here. Not on time. But we're here."

And she was right, we had most definitely arrived. The Ryan estate was a mansion perched on a hill facing a creek. The ivy-covered Tudor home would've been charming, but the music and screaming from inside could be heard from outer space and sort of killed the mood.

The three of us ran up the lengthy driveway to mansion, where we walked in without knocking. Big mistake. After the Ryan's butler (they have a butler! why am I surprised?), Henry, chastised us for our "_poor manners_", we handed him our coats and giggled our way into the main foyer.

You know in movies, where the nerdy girl shows up to the raging house party after a magical makeover? And it's like the music stops and everyone has to stare, open mouthed, and eyes bugged out because they have never seen anything like that? And suddenly, Nerdy Girl is the belle of the ball?

Yeah. Our entrance's reaction was something like that, minus the magical part and the whole becoming-the-belle-of-the-ball bit.

When we stepped into the party and the crowds got a look at our outfits, you could definitely feel a sort of electricity in the air. A few kids gasped and several started laughing. But everyone noticed, and nearly everyone had a look of disapproval Any other day, this would have enraged me: typical Briarwood brats who think it's strange for anyone to have a semblance of a sense of humor.

But not tonight. Because Leesh and Dyl were cackling madly by my side, and I couldn't help but think, "Screw it," and laugh a little myself. Here's a life lesson for you, Exam Grader Person: laugh at yourself once in a while and embrace the preposterous. It's worth it.

Clearly, Claire and Kristen didn't find our outfits amusing. The two marched up to us with furious looks on their impeccably made up visages. Well, mainly Claire. Kristen looked like she wanted to smile, but that's Kristen for you. Something about Olivia and Claire just suck the fun out of the poor girl.

"What," Claire growled at us, "are you wearing?"

I tried exceptionally hard to keep a straight face. "Clothes?"

"That is not party casual! And this is a student council run event," she argued, "so you have to follow the dress code." In case you're wondering, Claire really does sound like a perpetually bitter toddler all the time.

Dylan scoffed. "If this was a student council run event, there wouldn't be a bar with a make you're own martini station set up in the back."

"And you would've have had to invite the whole school," Leesh added indignantly, with the air of a lawyer, "which you didn't."

I didn't have much to add to the colossal "_oh snap!_" moment my friends unleashed on Claire. So I shrugged and said, "Suck it."

Claire exhaled sharply before crossing her arms and strutting away angrily in the other direction. For a split second, I saw a trace of a smile from Kristen before her face soured once more and she followed her friend.

From there, we all sort of branched out from one another. Dyl went to go show off her fly duds to some of her friends from the soccer team, while Leesh trotted off to go talk with some of the theater kids. Unlike them, I didn't really have another group to mingle with. Sure, I was friendly with Layne Abeley and her gang of protesters, but not to the point where I could comfortably stroll up to them and start talking.

Man, these were the times where I would curse myself for not being more involved in school, save for newspaper which doesn't really count as my articles never get published because of "unsavory language". But could you blame me? Dyl and Leesh were all the good friends I needed in the world, and they've had my back for nine years. I don't think I could handle talking to some of these people for nine minutes. But that's Briarwood for you. The antics of the over-privileged get very old very fast.

Luckily for me, I saw Carrie Randolph, a girl I chatted with frequently in newspaper, standing around awkwardly in the corner. On the way there, a group of overdressed sophomores nearly had a heart attack once they saw my get up. Oh, I aim to please.

"Hey," I greeted with a small smile. Carrie was a nice girl. The kind of girl who wouldn't be caught dead at these shindigs. I imagine her Friday nights are usually filled with books and not highly expensive booze.

"Hey, Massie," she said quietly in that hushed voice of hers. "I like your dress." No, she didn't really. Her nose scrunched when she said it. She was just being polite.

"Oh, this old thing?" I replied coolly, fluffing my beehive. Carrie didn't respond, but she nodded and continued people watching, and then I did the same.

After a few amusing minutes of watching Kemp Hurley, Chris Plovert, and a few of the soccer guys try to build a human bicycle, Carrie broke the silence with an unexpected observation.

"So, Dylan and Derrick?" she asked, gesturing to the pair in the corner of the room. Derrick was playing with Dyl's fauxhawk and she was most likely laughing at one of this lame jokes. This wasn't a big surprise, those two have been in flirtation since the beginning of time. "And Alicia and Chris Abeley?" she finished.

"What?" That's where I nearly lost it. Out of shock, not anger. But lo and behold, Leesh and college freshman Chris Abeley were in the middle of the theater kid circle, with him playing guitar and she was singing along. Whatever it was, the crowd around them was into it. I didn't blame Leesh. Chris Abeley was cute in the clean-cut musician sort of way, and he was a genuinely nice guy from what I've heard. And he went to NYU, which was her (our) dream school.

But then I had a horrible thought. A horrible, selfish thought to be more specific, one that made my stomach lurch and my throat swell up. What if Dylan and Alicia suddenly paired up with Derrick and Chris, sending them all on a first class ticket to Coupledom? And suddenly, they don't care about cutting history to go to the movies or adventures in the Crapmobile? Or all their time is taken up by the boyfriends and soon, we don't even have the Friday night sleepovers that we've had since we were ten?

Sure, we've had boyfriends. Hell, I was involved with Landon Crane last year. But whenever we had boyfriends, it was always made very clear that the three of us and out friendship comes first. Dates? Not on Friday nights. Movies? Only the ones that we don't want to see together.

I looked at Dylan, who was smiling so hard her cheeks would hurt the next morning. Then to Alicia, who was staring at Chris Abeley as he strummed the car with the admiration she saved for old Hollywood movie stars. Change was coming, I could feel it.

I needed some air.

After mumbling a quick "excuse me" to Carrie, I made my way outside to the Ryan's garden. The second I stepped out, the cool night air hit me harder than I expected, goosebumps appearing on places I didn't think they could. It was a foggy night, with the moon barely being able to shine through the collection of clouds in the sky. The creek, however, was abnormally glittering—a dark pool of shine in places it shouldn't be. I let myself inhale the fall air to clear my mind and relax for a moment.

"Nice dress." There went the relaxation. Now, I'm not proud of what happened next. I let out a shriek that probably could've been heard in China, jumped about five feet in the air from the surprise, and finally collapsed at the feet of none other than Cam Fisher.

Shit.

Well, the ground was pretty comfortable. Save for the fact that a pebble probably went up my nose.

Cam hovered over me, looking far too amused for someone who may have just taken a few years off my life. "Need some help there?" He extended his hand to me and I took it, hoisting myself back up.

I smoothed out the tulle of my dress and plucked a twig out of my hair. "Thanks," I mumbled, turning pink from the embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Cam said, somewhat apologetically, "well, I kinda did. I just didn't think you'd react like that."

I choked back a snort. "Good to know." For someone who was attending his own party (granted, this was probably an excuse for Olivia and her crew to get wild), Cam was under dressed compared to the other guys. He wore the same pair of old-looking brown pants he wore that first day of school, a gray button down shirt, and a haphazardly put together black tie. And the tie and shirt looked like an afterthought.

"So," I began, "some guest of honor you are." I took a seat on the balcony, letting my feet dangle below me into the air. Cam did the same.

He shrugged amiably. "Parties just aren't my thing, you know?"

"Even when they're in honor of you? "

"_Especially_ when they're in honor of me." We both laughed for a moment, before he closed his eyes and rested his back on a wall. "Is Briarwood always so..." he paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, "welcoming?"

I frowned, mulling over his question in my head. "Truthfully, I doubt they would even both if you weren't so..." Damn. I was going to say "_tall, dark, and handsome with mismatched eyes and sort of an enigma._" But come on. I barely knew the guy, I don't know how he would react to such a description.

He grinned mischievously. "If I wasn't so what?" He knew what I was going to say, you could see it in the knowing glint in his eyes.

"If you weren't so _welcomable_," I finished with a smirk. "You just reek of welcoming."

He nodded seriously. "It's true. But between you and me," he said as he leaned in a bit closer to me, "being this _welcomable_ isn't all it's cracked up to be."

I forced myself to stay cool, even if the large gap between us was considerably smaller. "How so?"

"Well, for starters, I have to dress up and attend parties thrown for me," he joked lightly, "and this party doesn't even have those little finger sandwiches."

I gasped dramatically. "The horror! How do you go on?" I guess all the time I spend with Leesh and her theatrics paid off.

"In all seriousness though," his tone dropped slightly and I could tell he was being honest at this point, which hit me for six, "it's kind of hard to get to know people when everyone's trying to get to know you."

I raised an eyebrow in doubt. "Sounds mighty difficult," I snorted. I may have sounded sarcastically, but something about those words hit me deeply, like it clicked with something in my brain. Maybe he was onto something.

"Actually," he began, sitting up a little bit straighter, "this might be the first one-on-one conversation I've had with someone at Briarwood."

"We usually travel in packs," I responded dryly. But I held up my nearly empty Oreo Blizzard cup as if it was a flute of champagne and said, "To not traveling in packs."

He lifted up his bottle of water and clinked it to my cup. "Cheers," he laughed. "At least I made one friend out of this."

"Friend?" I nearly choked on a bit of Oreo. Cam effing Fisher wanted to be my friend? Of all the people he had access to at Briarwood, he picked me? Let's be honest, I'm not that cool: my dream guy is Sirius Black from _Harry Potter_, pre-Azkaban stint. You get the point.

"We kind of have to be, don't we?" he responded with a wicked spark in his eye, "we toasted and had a conversation and everything. It was inevitable. And maybe if we're friends," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "you can bring me along on your bank robberies, drug deals, and jaywalking escapes." A tiny part of my soul was warmed at the fact he remembered that bit of sass I gave to Mrs. P. I can't help it, people remembering little details about me always takes me off guard, like other people besides me have access to a good memory,

I nodded my head in agreement. "Of course, it's the usual—"

"Cam!" I was interrupted by an airy female voice, one belonging to Olivia. Once she spotted Cam and I on the balcony near the wall, she nearly sprinted over to us. Or rather, him. Cam's eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of her, and I didn't blame him.

She was stunning. Of course she was, I should've seen it coming. Wearing a tight silvery dress, light blond princess hair curled to perfection, and the brightest smile I had ever seen—she was like the human form of the moon.

"Cam," she tittered as she beamed at him, "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Here I am," he stated simply, with an expression that I couldn't decipher. Neither could Olivia, obviously, because she turned her gaze toward me. As Dylan predicted, she did in fact almost have an aneurysm.

"Massie," she struggled to keep her act as the charming hostess, "you look..." Clearly she couldn't find the right word to finish that sentence, as she pursed her lips in disapproval. Looks like this would be the last time she invited me anywhere.

"We're about to cut the cake, and make your own martini bar is looking pretty good, if you know what I mean," she purred, batting her eyelashes at the same time. It should've looked bad, but on her, it was just scarily alluring. Damn her.

"No, I don't," Cam said as he hopped off the balcony to face her, "but I'm willing to find out." Immediately, Olivia grabbed his forearm protectively. As if I was going to grab it, please.

Before the two left, Cam turned back to me and said, "You coming?" His voice was pretty nonchalant, even if I was hoping for something else.

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. Eat a finger sandwich for me, Fisher," I replied quickly, the edges of my lips curling up. Cam smiled, and Olivia didn't seemed pleased at all.

"Will do, Block," he said back, as the radiant Olivia escorted him back to the house, leaving me alone outside with nothing but the moon and the clouds.

* * *

**author's note: Another long chapter! I just can't help myself, can I? :) **

**Thanks so much for the lovely reviews! Especially with the comments about the girls' friendships, I worked really hard on that part, so I'm glad you guys enjoyed it.**

**Just some clarification: the whole story will probably be 6-7 chapters max (like 'It Takes a Thief') and will most definitely be a Cassie. And, I deleted "Stark Raving Red" because it's getting a little similar to this story, and I want to do a tie-in piece from Dylan's POV.**

**Hope you guys liked this chapter! Reviews are always appreciated :)  
**

**xo, Ren**


	3. stop in the name of life

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

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Allow me to educate you, Exam-Grader-Person, on a little thing called friendship.

There are three types of friends:

1.) _Acquaintance friends_: There's not actually much substance to this kind of relationship, it's usually just between two people who see each other around but don't actually socialize. Basically, me and everyone who isn't Leesh or Dyl.

2.)_ Chill friends_: You can laugh with them in class and even find yourself having a few things in common with this kind of friend. These are the people who you'd let copy your math homework once in a while, and you occasionally reference the possibility of making plans but of course, there's never a follow-up.

3.) _Best Friends_: Like Leesh and Dyl, the kind of people who you would do anything for knowing full well that they would do the same. These are the friends who know how totally stupid you can be and how hideous you look when you're sick, and can make fun of you for it without hurting your feelings.

Want an example? I know you guys love examples and proof, as if the entire world is bullshitting you twenty-four seven. Nobody has the dedication to bullshit for that long, by the way.

The Tuesday after Olivia's party, Dylan and I got into a bit of an argument. This happens fairly often, as I have a need to be right all the time (it's the scientist in me) and Dyl loves to prove me wrong. Alicia, thank goodness, can avoid fights like the plague. The world could stand to learn a lot from her.

After my strange (in hindsight) conversation with Cam and his subsequent semi-flirting with Olivia, my stomach was in a huge clumps of knots. Dry mouthed, it seemed as if there were enormously heavy weights on my shoulders and they were just about to give. Most of all, I was massively seeing red, and not in a good way.

(Of course, I could've just manned the hell up and said I was a bit jealous of Cam and blond-fairy-sparkly-princess Olivia, but I like some poetic license.)

Eventually, I had to show my face back in the party. But to my surprise, Leesh and Dyl were scouring the house looking for me and not, as I had dreaded, sucking face with their soon to be boyfriends. I checked my phone, and there was about twenty missed calls and angry voicemails waiting for me.

I was happy anyway to be missed, I had been feeling a little delicate.

But over the next few days, the sensations of the weights on my shoulders and the dry mouth and the seeing red stayed with me, albeit a little less extreme. Plus, I found myself questioning the word "friend" and what that meant to me (actually, Cam). What kind of friend? Was I just his easygoing physics pal, or possibly someone he wanted to get to know better so he slapped on the word "friend" to give him some leeway? Why the hell did I care so much about it?

As you can see, it resulted in me having a shitty weekend.

By Tuesday, Leesh and Dyl definitely noticed my sulky, introspective mood. Except instead of beating around the bush, Dyl confronted me directly on our drive to school.

"Are you going to stop with the 1990s teen angst or are you going to tell us what's bothering you?" Dylan asked bluntly, turning around from the passenger seat to face me. Leesh kept her eyes on the road, but her brown orbs would flick to the rear-view mirror to capture my expression once in a while.

"It's not 1990s teen angst," I responded lamely, "it's more like 1980s. Like I'm realizing the economy is gonna suck and nobody looks good with teased hair."

She didn't appreciate my attempt to be funny. "Save it, Mass. Ever since Olivia's party, you've been acting like a total fun-sucker," she replied. She and Leesh exchanged a bit of a look and then Dyl said in a low, more empathetic, "Is this about us not hanging together that night?"

Emphasis on the pathetic. "You guys," I couldn't help but whine and roll my eyes, "are we five years old? I know we don't have to be together twenty-four seven." Regardless of being with my closest friends, I felt a little embarrassed by their concern. I wasn't that much of a social leper without them.

"I get that," Dyl cut in, "but Carrie Randolph said you took one look at us with Chris and Derrick and ran off. Where the hell did you even go?"

"Thanks Mom," I quipped bitingly, "and does it even matter?" At this point, I realized I was too busy sorting out my own thoughts that I never told them about my conversation with my new "friend" Cam.

"Of course it matters!"

"Well if it mattered so much," I spoke slowly, choosing my words carefully, "maybe you two shouldn't have ditched me the second you see some stupid guys?"

"You don't even know them!" Dylan shot back, eyes flaring. "And you don't even want to try, do you? Shit, Mass, quit being so judgmental."

I scowled. "Shit, Dyl, start being a better friend." There, I knew with those words that this went from one of our little tiffs to a low blow. Hell, even I felt like I had been slapped in the face, and I was the one saying it.

At this point, Alicia slammed on the brakes of her car as she pulled into her usual parking space. Turning off the engine, she said quietly, "Let's just go to class, okay?"

Dylan didn't respond, she just took her backpack and stormed away. Leesh hesitated, and I know she wanted to talk to me, but she thought better of getting involved and nodded at me before heading off inside the building.

"Shit," I had thought to myself as I grabbed my heavy bag and made my way to walk in the noisy school, "it's going to be a long day."

* * *

A conscience, most people have them, you know. A cute little Jiminy Cricket who can tell you what's wrong and what's right. I have one too, but let's just say that mine doesn't get the exercise it probably deserves. It's not that I'm some sort of future sociopath, but I'm pretty apt at knowing what affects me and what doesn't.

And my fight with Dyl definitely affected me.

Through first period history to lunch, I felt like complete crap, the worst friend on the planet. The only crime Dyl and Leesh committed was trying to figure out why I've been a "fun-sucker" (appropriate choice of word) and I punished Dyl by acting like a total angry heifer. It wasn't fair at all. I spent most of the day in stony silence, not daring to look at Dyl in any class we shared together, wondering if she was as miserable as I was.

Thanks, Conscience.

By physics, my state of being hadn't improved. In fact, my 1990s teen angst level went up dangerously to _Dawson's Creek_ style moods. I'll be real, I looked like a total mess that day anyway from my crappy weekend. Messy hair from nervous tugging, slight under-eye circles, perma-pout. Calling me a wreck would've been a compliment.

I was so distracted with my stupid conscience that I barely noticed Cam had plopped down next to me. He had been absent the day before, much to the dismay of Olivia and her blond brigade. It was a welcome absence for me, anyway.

"Hey," he greeted with a grin. I tried to smile back, but I ended up with a lopsided half-lip curl. It wasn't pleasant.

Cam immediately picked up on the bad vibes I was clearly giving off. "What's wrong?" he asked, his mismatched eyes filled with concern. Then, they lit up again. "Drug deal gone bad?"

I couldn't help it, the bit of humor caught me off guard and I let a tiny little snicker escape. "I wish," I replied. Then, I remembered how I can't stand it when people say vague comments about how they're feeling. Usually, I'd roll my eyes and want to tell them that it's probably not that bad.

And plus, saying "_I'm upset because I'm not sure of what kind of friends you want to be and it bothers me not to know that about people and Olivia is all over you and I just acted like a complete bitch to my best friends and I'm possibly PMSing_" doesn't have a nice ring to it.

I'd spare Cam the sob story. "I'm fine, really," I assured him, smoothing my hair back in a ponytail.

He nodded coolly. "Well, if you're ever not..." he trailed off, but I knew what he meant. Here is where I started to realize how utterly pathetic it was that I had never been exposed to boys like Cam, the dynamic kind.

"Thanks," I managed to say, averting his gaze.

And then he said that stupid word again. "What are_ friends_ for?" The smile told me he was simply referencing our talk on the balcony, in which I guess that tacky dress gave me superpowers. But, the sudden light bulb going off in my brain told me why exactly did that bother me so much.

Do you want to know why I love physics and math so much? Because it's certain and absolute, there's no opinions or blond-sparkly-fairy-princesses in it to mess it up. One plus one is always two, what comes up always comes down, and there is always a correct answer if you look hard enough. Sure, there's millions of things we don't know about this universe, but our certainty in the uncertain makes up for it.

I've split friendship into those three categories and subconsciously tried to see what kind of friend Cam could be over a span of a few days. The problem wasn't my system, it was that I lacked evidence. Sure, I had a hypothesis but no proof. I tried to make a boy who I had a fairly decent conversation with into this extraordinary person, but I didn't know that. And I sure as hell wouldn't until I got to know him better.

And that was actually a good plan, until Kemp Hurley said rather loudly, "Hey, Fisher! You really with Olivia now?"

I didn't exactly register the gravity of the words quite yet. Cam, however, was the poster boy for nonchalance. "Doesn't really sound like physics talk to me," he said simply, ignoring the fact that the eyes of about twelve envious guys were on him.

"Is it true or not?" Kemp pressed on.

A sigh of defeat from Cam followed and he replied, "Yeah, we're together." The words came out fast and a little careless, like dating the most gorgeous girl in school within three weeks of showing up was equivalent to buying new shoelaces.

Vaguely, I felt like I had been slightly punched in the stomach. But then again, I was already feeling so incredibly shitty about the fight that I was mildly numb to everything except that.

After the guys in the class simultaneously congratulating Cam and made lewd comments about Olivia, the man of the hour turned back to me with a sheepish look.

"So," he began, "what do you think?"

This is the part of the story where you, Exam-Grader-Person, should realize I have many skills in life, but hiding my soon-to-be there feelings sure takes the cake. "Overachiever," I replied wickedly, forcing myself to grin, "you're supposed to work your way up to girls like Olivia Ryan."

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows. "I think I'm an exception." It's a show of irony that Cam would way something so blindingly true; those five words marked him, whether he or I knew it at the time.

Mrs. Peterson finally ambled in the classroom and began her lecture. Throwing myself into her notes on Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, I blocked out everything I was feeling or should've been feeling and replaced it with good old fashioned science.

At the end of the hour, she handed back our exams from last week. Right off the bat, I know I didn't do so well, as I had been fixing Leesh's computer instead of studying that night. Truthfully, I thought studying when you know the material was pointless. However, I didn't think Mrs. P would slap down my test face down and narrow her eyes at me.

"If you spent half as much time studying as you did thinking up comebacks, you would do that brain of yours justice," she scolded slightly, causing me to flush with embarrassment. Luckily, the bell rang and the other guys rushed out of the classroom, including Cam. Probably had to go get his sparkly-blond-fairy-princess girlfriend.

Solemnly, I grabbed my test without looking at it, turned on my heel, and walked sharply away. Without a good comeback.

* * *

It was an F.

I have never, I do mean _never_, failed a science or math test. I've never even scored below a B. You're not supposed to utterly bomb at your favorite subject. This was failure to the nth degree.

And then, everything I had been trying to block came crashing down. The dry mouth, shoulder weights, and sight of red reared it's ugly head once more. Only this time, it brought it's friends: the pricking feeling in my eyes, sudden nausea, and the extreme desire to go crawl under my bed for the rest of my life.

"_I failed a test and I might never be an engineer and Mrs. P just hates me and Cam is going out with Olivia and I wish I didn't care and I wish I knew him better so it'd make sense to care and of course Olivia gets him and I'm potentially friend-zoned and I don't know if he was serious about being friends and I'm the shittiest friend on Earth and I hate that I hurt Dylan and Alicia and why the hell is it so cold outside in this effing parking lot and.._."

"Mass?" A familiarly raspy voice called out to me, and through my blurry, tear-stained vision I saw a shock of red hair._ Dylan_.

Immediately, I sat up straighter against the brick wall and wiped my eyes. Calmly, she sat down next to me, handing me her bulky brown sweater. I didn't even know I was shivering. This, I was not expecting. I was ready for her to chew me out in the way only a Marvil could, but instead, she rested her head on my shoulder and sighed.

"You look like shit," she said simply.

"I feel like it," I replied. Inhaling deeply, I let the air flow fast out of my mouth, as a precursor to the words that was soon to come. Now or never. "Look, Dyl, I know I was acting like a huge harpy today and over the weekend, I-I didn't mean to say—" Stuttering and babbling was the only way I could manage to apologize.

She laughed, albeit a little bitterly. "It's okay, Mass. It was a stupid fight anyway," she admitted, fiddling with the charm bracelet I had gotten her for her thirteenth birthday.

"We're cool?" A little flicker of hope went off in my eyes.

"Definitely."

I exhaled, letting all the stress over our fight escape my system. "So, I totally bombed a physics test today," I offered, trying to keep my tone conversational and not bleak or morose.

She cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"So," she began, gearing up for what was one of her famous mini pep talks, "you'll get it next time. You know the stuff better than you think, Cut yourself some effing slack. What'd you get, a C or something?"

I groaned, "If a 20% is suddenly a C."

Dyl was silent for a moment, studying my face and my test as if this new information simply didn't make sense to her. As if I had been speaking Mandarin Chinese. And then, she burst out laughing. Not just laughing, utter hysterics. Tears rolling down her face, stomach clutched, face turning red.

I was not amused. "How the hell is that so funny?" I demanded, whacking her on the arm.

"How the hell did you get a 20%?" she shot back between giggles. "That's beyond failure!"

"In other news," I responded dryly, sulkily taking back my test from her clutches, "bears shit in the woods. The sky is blue."

"Hey!" Alicia suddenly appeared in front of us. No doubt smiling brightly because the two of us had made up. In the back of my head, I realized that now the three of us were now ditching seventh period. So much for the pact we had started not to ditch class so much this year.

"What's so funny?" Leesh queried, as she dug in my bag for a piece of gum.

Dyl was still snickering. "Mass spectacularly failed her physics test. Fantastically, astoundingly, and epically failed it."

I handed Leesh the test. "See for yourself."

She flicked through the test and not before long, she was in fit of chuckles just like Dyl. "_A 20%_?" she exclaimed. "You gotta admit, Mass, it's pretty hilarious."

"No, it's not!" I argued adamantly. "It's depressing and the two of you should be consoling me and my fallen dreams!"

That only made them laugh harder.

Somewhere between Dyl's obnoxious snorts and Leesh's dramatic reading of the test questions, I realized how sad it actually was and how utterly stupid my answers were. It was so sad, it actually was hilarious. Eventually, I had joined them in making fun of my test score and laughing at the irony of it all. Besides, I had discovered after a little mental calculation, it wouldn't affect my overall grade that much.

Before I knew it, the three of us had gotten up—still giggling like mad—and made the trek over to Leesh's car so we could go get some "_You-Fail-At-Life_" pizza, hold the tears. In that moment, the fight or my test score or even Cam's relationship with Olivia didn't matter. All that was there was me, some pizza, and the greatest people I have ever met who could turn a shitty day into one filled with laughter.

Those are best friends, the very best. The spectacular, fantastic, astounding, epic ones. But for so long, I had thought that Alicia Beatriz Rivera and Dylan Nadine Marvil were the only people who could have such an affect on my world like that, like they were the only people with that sort of power.

Until_ he _came along, anyway.

* * *

**author's note: This chapter is, as you can see, pretty MAD-heavy (mass/alicia/dyl) but next chapter is mostly about the evolution of Cam and Massie's friendship. I've basically given up the notion that I'm capable of writing short chapters for this story. And, I'm pretty sick over here, so I apologize if this chapter is a bit nonsensical or sucky.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed this so far! It really means a lot to me, and I'm going to try to reply more often, as I suck at that.  
**

**Happy New Year's! :) 2011 baby!  
**

**xo,**

**Ren**


	4. just gray clouds in a blue sky

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

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I think it was a month after Olivia's party and the following debacles where my life started to shift. Not shift, really, but change in a way that I wouldn't notice until the damage was done. In chemistry, there is such a thing called a "catalyst", some sort of substance that speeds up a reaction. For me, my catalysis reaction began with a project assignment in physics.

"For the project," Mrs. P droned on, unaware that she had lost our attention the moment she handed out the piece of paper with the assignment details on it, "you will become the teacher. You will take a unit we have studied and do an extended research project on, be it creating your own experiment or finding a new way to explain it before the class. This will be your major exam review for the semester, any questions?"

"Yeah," Kemp Hurley called out, "can we work in groups?" He only asked that because he knew that working in a group meant less time working on this project and more time flirting with the entire female athletics division.

"Groups are fine, but no more than three to a group. You may also work alone, if you prefer." Immediately, our class all moved seats into their groups without so much as a discussion, a skill most people perfect by middle school.

Somebody tapped me on the shoulder. It was Cam; we had been separated from sitting next to each other after Mrs. P put in place a new seating chart. I had to say, I still felt strange about him. We were class buddies at best, we never forayed into talking about ourselves or anything outside of when certain assignments were due. As he was still with Olivia (Dyl won a considerable amount of money by betting the guy's soccer team they would at least last a month, to my secret dismay), it began to look like our balcony talk at her party would be the closest we ever got to actually being friends.

"Wanna be partners?" he asked with a smile, sliding into the seat next to me.

I usually worked alone on projects, unless it was for a class I had with Dylan or Alicia. Even then, working by myself meant I could take any direction I wanted to go and procrastinate without feeling guilty. But something about his genuine expression and the way the school uniform mad his eyes both bluer and greener made me go, "Yeah, sure," without even thinking about what I was doing.

"Cool," he replied simply. Before I knew it, we were discussing possible project topics and the best days for us to meet. If I was half as analytical and observant as I thought I was, I would've realized three crucial things:

1.) I would be working with Cam on an important project, therefore I would have to talk to Cam. A lot.  
2.) We would be meeting outside of school to work. At each other's houses. Just the two of us.  
3.) I had no idea what to make of this.

Instead of considering any of these, I continued to talk to Cam about what was the best way of approaching this project and what would be best for us to do. Like a normal person, like somebody who could do things without over thinking them.

And I gotta say, it was nice while it lasted.

* * *

What really set everything off was an instant message.

**reelbigfisher:** hey!

**massiekur:** um, hey. who's this?

**reelbigfisher:** disappointing. here's a clue: look at the screen name.

**massiekur:** you're telling me i'm not talking to an awesome ska band?

**reelbigfisher:** i'm better than a ska band.

**massiekur: **your mouth's writing a check your ears refuse to cash.

**reelbigfisher:** i'm going to ignore that nonsensical retort. it's cam.

**massiekur:** hmm, doesn't ring a bell.

**reelbigfisher**: funny. please tell me you're auditioning at a comedy club as we speak.

**massiekur:** nah, my sense of humor is sort of a health liability.

**reelbigfisher:** it's that bad?

**massiekur:** no, just extremely side splitting :)

**reelbigfisher:** i'm also going to ignore that spectacularly lame joke.

**massiekur**: i know you're actually laughing with me, cam, it's okay. i know.

As you could tell, I was far more comfortable speaking to Cam through a computer. It was pathetic, really, the way our generation can barely hold real life conversations. But that's a completely different rant, Exam-Grader-Person. So you can just sigh sadly and go, "Why couldn't we just had that as our prompt? Does this girl ever shut up?"

I don't actually. And I definitely didn't while speaking to Cam over instant message. He was interesting person to talk to, I'll give him that. But the most important part of this discussion is that we decided a day to meet as his house to work. Saturday, one pm.

There's a psychology study I'm pretty fond of on human behavior and anxieties towards death. The question of "would you like to know the exact time of your death?" was brought up, and almost the entire group of participants said no to knowing that undoubtedly scary fact. The psychologists came to the conclusion that we like major events like death to take us by surprise, because the second there's even an inkling of certainty in our uncertain worlds, we freak out. We back down. We get scared.

I'm not saying knowing the exact time I'd have to be alone with Cam is the same as knowing when I'd kick the bucket, but you can't ignore the similarities.

* * *

"Wuss," Alicia teased as we were en route to Cam's on Saturday. She, Dyl, and I were still recovering from our usual Friday night sleepover. This time, it was an all-night Food Network marathon which inspired us to pretend the Rivera kitchen was kitchen stadium, until we realized that none of us (except me, sort of, I'm ace at following directions) could actually cook.

"I'm not a wuss," I huffed as I kicked the driver's seat from the back.

Dylan snorted. "You're showing all the tell-tale signs of being a wuss." She turned around to study me for a moment. "You spent too much time trying to make it look like you don't care about your appearance, your hair is suspiciously nice, and your nail beds are a mess." She frowned. "You only do this when you're wussish."

She wasn't entirely wrong. Last year, when I was involved with Landon Crane, in the early stages of our relationship I looked like a strange equilibrium between indifference and trying-too-hard. This was all, as you could predict, an attempt to cover up my "_wussishness_".

Leesh laughed. "Does Cam Fisher bring out your inner wuss, Massie Block?" she asked in a mockingly deep, seductive voice. I should've just rode my bike to his house. Sure I haven't ridden a bike since I was fourteen, but at least I wouldn't have to put up with their teasing.

"I'm _not_ a wuss," I repeated edgily, "and is it a crime to look like I have a home with running water?"

"You never did before," Leesh replied.

"And you also never work on projects with somebody else if you can help it," Dyl pointed out before sulkily adding, "and I could've used your help for that chemistry project."

"For the last time, it was in the seventh grade and I had the chicken pox! Let it go woman!"

"Who still gets the chicken pox in the seventh grade?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe you? You know, the person who gave it to me!"

"I told you to go take some medicine!"

"Ibuprofen does not stop the chicken pox!"

"_We're here!_" The brakes of Alicia's car slammed, sending my face full-force into passenger seat and Dyl hit the window. After muttering a few obscenities under our breath (mostly about how increasing suspicions of how Leesh got her license), we were immediately taken aback by the sight in front of us.

I would've liked to pull a Dorothy Gale and say, "_We're not in Westchester anymore_," but we were. And that's what made it so unbelievably strange. Defending myself from being called a wuss and the cause of the seventh grade chicken pox outbreak distracted me from watching where Leesh was driving us, since were kind of in an isolated section of the city.

Or at least, the house itself was isolated. And I could see why. Painted a the brightest shade of sunny egg yolk yellow, the wooden home was old and practically in shambles, like it could fall apart at any moment. Compared to all the Tudor and Victorian style homes in Westchester, this place was definitely a contender for suburban suicide.

Dyl and Leesh looked at the yellow home before looking back at me expectantly. Raised eyebrows. Cocky half-smiles. Spark in their eyes. I knew what they were thinking.

"I'm not a wuss," I proclaimed once more as I grabbed my bag, threw my hair back in a ponytail, and pushed open the car door like the total un-wuss I was.

Or pretended to be, at least.

* * *

"Can I help you?" A light airy voice called out to me. After standing outside the Fisher home for about seven minutes, I realized that I kinda was a wuss, Leesh and Dyl should've stayed to make sure I got in (I could've been kidnapped), and that houses built before 1900 don't have doorbells. Like an idiot, I knocked on the door politely, then a little more aggressively in case they couldn't hear me, and then when I was almost to the point of kicking it down, she showed up.

"Stupid piece of shit," I couldn't help but swear under my breath at the door before the lady took that breath away from me.

She was tall and waifish, with strands of dark hair peeking out of her violet turban. She was tan, with brilliant green eyes that I know I had seen before until it hit me that, of course, this must be Cam's mother. And she was beautiful, even if she was wearing dirty men's clothes and holding a half-finished statue of a naked man.

"Oh, um, hi," I greeted nervously, cautiously stepping away from the door.

"Hello," she said again, "are you a friend of Cam's?" She spoke a bit like the old time actresses Alicia idolized.

I nodded quickly. "Yeah, that's me. I'm Massie."

"Interesting name," she mused, her eyes widening, "I'm Vidalia, his mother."

"That's...nice." Goodness, the forced conversation with other people's parents is the worst kind of awkward there is. Especially with Vidalia, because she definitely had the whole loopy, head in the clouds thing going on.

Luckily, Cam appeared at the front door. "Hey, Massie," he greeted, a little bit bemused. He was dressed similarly to the day I first met him: an odd combination of vintage looking clothing that, now that I've seen his mother, were probably genuine.

"Hi, Cam," I said quietly, as Vidalia's intense staring at my eyes suddenly made me uncomfortable.

"Such strange eyes," she said, not taking hers off mine, "what would you call this color, Cam? Russet? Copper perhaps, it reminds me of drinking whiskey in Brazil that one summer.."

Cam saw the distressed look on my face and laughed. "I'd say amber, definitely amber." My face heated up, embarrassingly. "We're going to go inside and work now," he told Vidalia, who was still gazing into my eyes like it was a full time job.

"Sorry about that, she's sort of crazy with eye color," Cam said to me once we were inside his house, "I think I set it off."

"How conceited of—" My little dig at Cam was cut short once I got a full glimpse of inside. The walls were covered in paintings of all sizes, all mediums, and all subjects. It was a dizzying display of color, texture, and most of all, life. My eyes jumped from picture to picture, hungrily trying to capture all of this wonder in a single moment.

I finally exhaled, still in awe. "This is amazing."

He leaned over and touched one of the paintings, a watercolor of a young boy looking at a sea. "Yeah, it is. Vidalia's really great." Of course a person like Vidalia would have her son refer to her by first name, of course.

"No," I corrected, "she's amazing." I took another look at the water color. "Is this one you?" I queried, a smile growing on my face.

The not so unshakable Cam actually turned a bit red. "Yeah," he admitted, "it's when we lived in Portugal."

"You used to live in Portugal?" I asked, impressed.

"Yeah, Portugal. Spain. Syria. We used to live everywhere," Cam responded with a bit of a dazed look in his eye, before looking back at the painting. "My parents are kind of...nomads. The typical artists and musician types." He sounded like was choosing his words carefully, like he wasn't sure how it was supposed to sound.

"Nomads?" I repeated, confused. Another glance at the paintings confirmed their nomad status, they were scenes from various spots around the world.

His signature grin lit up his face again. "Nomads. Hippies would be a better way to put it, I guess," he explained. "They like to drift from place to place, you know? Just following the wind." I nodded like I understood, but truthfully, I couldn't fathom the idea of moving around the world where the wind took me. I've lived in the same house all my life, knowing the same people.

I had to admit, it made Cam about ten times more fascinating to know that he came from a family with no real roots. "So, what brings you to Westchester? It's like the least hippie friendly town ever."

He chuckled a bit. "The museum wants Vidalia to restore some paintings and Rowan got a job teaching music at an elementary school." Rowan, I assumed, was his father.

"That's..." I struggled for a moment to find the right word. Cool? Too easy. Strange? Too honest. Fantastic? Too personal. "..._interesting_," I finished, throwing in a half-snicker to make it more believable.

Cam simply sighed (and I wouldn't know until later that it was a sigh of relief) and closed his eyes for a moment before saying, "Interesting?" He looked once more at the painting of his younger self and said, "You don't know the half of it."

* * *

For a boy raised by hippies, Cam's knowledge of practical science was impressive. I knew he was ace at physics before, but to hear him go over complex concepts and explain them in the simplest of terms was amazing. Finally, somebody I wouldn't have to play down my own knowledge with. Dyl and Leesh, unfortunately, were no Cam Fishers when it came to science.

"So," I began as I took another bite of the vegan canapés that Vidalia had made for us. We sat outside on their balcony overlooking the garden. If I had thought the paintings were impressive, they were nothing compared to statues that Vidalia had made, including the half naked man. Initial strangeness aside, I was beginning to like Cam's house.

"I think we should do the project on the Heisenberg uncertainty principle," I stated, brushing the crumbs out of my textbook, "we could do a power point. I don't think many people in the class understood it when Mrs. P went over it."

"Cool," he agreed, "that won't be hard to do—" He was interrupted by the ringing of his beat up cell phone, the screen illuminated by the name "Olivia3". It was a safe bet that she entered the little heart in. Still, the canapés suddenly weren't as appetizing.

He shot me an apologetic look before answering. "Hey, Liv," he greeted kindly._ Liv_? Oh, goodness, he had a nickname for her.

"I'm just working on a project," he explained to the incomprehensible babble on the other line. "For physics." More chatter. "Oh, with Massie. Massie Block." Was she asking about me? Shit, I thought as I became extremely interested on a chapter about Einstein's life in my book. What I would give to hear what Olivia was saying.

If anything Olivia's voice only got louder on the other. "Uh, no," Cam said to her, "I can't get away now. But hey, I'll call you later, yeah?" The static of Olivia's voice was cut by the closing of his phone.

Cam exhaled sharply before saying, "Now where were we?"

"Heisenberg's uncertainty principle," I replied. The curiosity was killing me, it really was. So, as casually as I possibly could I added, "Love life going well?"

For half a second, Cam's facial expression was totally unreadable. Not because I didn't know what he was feeling, but because seeing a flash of uncertainty on his face sent chills through my system. But it was gone as soon as it appeared.

"It's going," he answered with a smile, like he wasn't being totally vague.

Well, he wasn't going to get away with it. "Really," I began with a smirk, "it's Olivia Ryan. You can't tell me that dating her isn't exciting."

"Not as exciting as you would think."

"Are you serious?" I pressed on. "She is personification of the wild trust fund kid lifestyle. The parties, the people—"

"That's the thing, though," Cam mused, "they're all just...people."

It was incredibly odd to hear him put it that way. For the longest time, I never really thought of Olivia Ryan and her crew as people. Caricatures, stereotypes, and hyperboles yes—but never people. "_People_" would mean they were fallible, that they weren't as perfect and glossy as they were on the outside. Maybe I just didn't want to believe it.

If he could see flaws in people like them, I didn't want to know what he could see in me.

While I was letting that concept sink into my mind, Cam turned the tables back on me. "How's your love life?"

I laughed, I couldn't help myself. If only he knew. "Me? With a love life?" I snorted.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that you just don't have one," he clarified questioningly, "or that you're not capable of having one?"

People usually just don't have the ability of catching me off guard. I was starting to realize that Cam Fisher is just not like other people. "What do you think?" I shot back. It was a skill I had learned from watching many court shows: turn the question back on the questioner before answering.

"If I knew, would I be asking?" he responded with a yawn as he messed his hair. Score one for hippie boy.

"I didn't ask what you knew," I tried again, "but what you thought. Two entirely different ideas." Actually, score two for me. Mentally, I gave myself a high-five.

Cam smirked, but I knew that he knew that I got him. "Do you really know what I think?" he asked, looking up at the blue skies as if he was directing his question to the heavens above us.

"Yes," I answered surely. When I looked up, I ended up focusing on the stray clouds that tinged the blue skies with an unwarranted realism: that the sky isn't as clear as we'd all like to believe it is.

While I studied the cloud, I saw Cam's gaze drop back from me from the corner of my eye. "I think..." he began slowly, locking his cool toned eyes with my warm ones, a mix that shouldn't be. He was studying me, I knew it, he was trying to find a weakness in me. A slipping point. Trouble was, I didn't even know I had one.

"I don't think you're as cynical as you think you are, Massie Block."

* * *

**author's note: I must say, I kinda love writing about raised-by-hippies-Cam. **

**Major props to Em for Cam's screen name, I also love that.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and thanks so much for all the feedback for the last one! Reviews are like crack to most authors, so feel free to feed that addiction here and tell me what you think! :)  
**

**xo,**

**Ren**

**PS: I don't think I've made it quite clear, but this narrative is sort of an ambiguous mix of what Massie is actually writing on her exams and what she's just recalling. Some parts are, some aren't. It can be a bit vague and it's kind of up to you.  
**


	5. infinity and beyond breakability

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

* * *

Cynical.  
**cyn·i·cal (adjective)**  
_- distrusting or disparaging the motives of others._  
_-bitterly or sneeringly distrustful, contemptuous, or pessimistic._  
see also: Massie Block

Or at least, according to Cam Fisher.

What did he know about me that he could say that? I've been called a lot of things in life, but cynical was never one of them. I didn't think I was cynical at all. A realist? Yes. A pessimist? Sometimes. But never a cynic. Cynical was an descriptor reserved for faded and jaded beauties who prowled about in bars, sipping their martinis and smoking cigarettes while both missing and cursing "_the one who got away_."

I was not any of those things.

I was, however, crouched in a bathroom stall during fourth period literature the next Tuesday. My morning was exceptionally rough, as I had completely slept through my alarm and had to skip breakfast to make it on time. So, instead of sitting through Mr. Garanzo's hour lecture on the causes of the Russian revolution, I decided to hide out in one of the spacious girls' bathroom stall and enjoy my toaster strudel in peace. I would've just gone up to the student lounges or library, but my reputation as a compulsive ditcher is most likely the reason for the stricter security.

My peace didn't last very long. The door swung open, and a mix of noises followed suit. The clacking of high heels on the tile floor. The jingling of makeup and keys inside purses. The hurried whispers of a cluster of teenage girls. This all did nothing to help my headache.

Still, I ducked my feet up off the ground so I could remain unnoticed in my stall. Nobody wants to be caught listening in on other people's conversations.

"...so, I asked him why he couldn't hang out on Saturday and he was all, 'I had a project, I can't get out of it' and then I guess that meant he couldn't come to my house for dinner..." It took me a few moments to realize that the voice belonged to Olivia Ryan and that she was, to my absolute shock, talking about Cam. So that's what their phone call was about.

Another voice chimed in, "Wasn't he with Macy?" _Massie_, damn it, Massie. Claire was such a disappointment to me.

"Massie," Olivia corrected with a tinge of disgust in her voice. "Figures the only reason she took physics was to get closer to all the guys. Ugh." I had to stifle a snort. Did she not realize I've been the poster girl for science geekdom since the fifth grade?

"It was just a project," Kristen responded reasonably, "I don't get it, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal," Olivia began through clenched teeth, "is that he's never invited me over to his house and we've been together for over a month!" She sniffed and cleared her throat, regaining her composure.

"Relax, Liv," Kristen advised calmly.

"Yeah," Claire added, "you're dating the hottest guy in school. Be happy about it." Was that bitterness in her whiny tones?

"Relax? Be happy?" Olivia repeated in a flash of anger. "Are you two even listening?" Claire and Kristen fell silent, and I could only assume that Olivia's scolding meant she was not to be questioned.

She continued, "Cam knew how much the dinner meant to me. He's never met my parents, I've never met his. I don't even know what they do." In Westchester, knowing what your potential boyfriend or girlfriend's parents did for a living was the same as knowing their first name. It was just common knowledge, like how everyone knew Alicia's dad was this big shot lawyer, how Dylan's mom was the host of "_The Daily Grind_" show, and how my dad worked in computer business.

But even then, I couldn't picture Dr. Ryan and his heiress wife to thrilled to meet somebody like Vidalia or find out that the Fishers are kind of hippies. It just didn't compute

"Maybe he's, you know, poor," Claire quipped, saying poor like most people say "infested with some sort of sexually transmitted flesh eating disease."

Olivia scoffed. "How could he attend Briarwood then?"

"There's scholarships," Kristen noted with a tiny cough of indignation. She was on a double academic and athletic scholarship.

"Whatever," Olivia huffed, "it's just-" I heard a flick of a lighter and then the smell of smoke took over the bathroom. "I've never been in this position before. Cam's not like the other guys. Usually, I'd be all '_que sera, sera_', but the way he talks and the things he says...I-I just don't understand him sometimes." Pretentious use of a French expression aside, that was the most vulnerable I had ever seen Olivia. There was none of her usual arrogance, just somebody who had thought she had a mystery figured out only to realize she was only on the first page of the book.

After a few soothing words of reassurance ("He'll come around," Kristen said wisely) and ego-stroking ("Did I mention how great you look today? Seriously, you're like a nine point seven," Claire gushed), the infamous blond trio sashayed out of the bathroom just as quickly as they came in. When the coast was clear, I got out my stall, ignoring the leg cramp I endured from staying still for too long.

I won't lie to you, Exam-Grader-Person, I felt a surge of guilt after overhearing that conversation. Besides becoming enlightened to some of the odd aspects of Cam and Olivia's relationship, part of me felt embarrassed for Olivia. There she was, the golden girl, the quintessential beautiful, sophisticated socialite. And all it took was some offbeat boy with mismatched eyes to bring that all crashing down.

"_That's the thing, though_," I recalled Cam saying, his low and raspy voice echoing through my ears and cutting through my thoughts. "_They're all just...people_."

"People," I repeated in a whisper to myself as I looked at my reflection in the musty mirror, "breakable, breakable people."

* * *

"College sucks," Alicia groaned as she threw down her pen and massaged her hand. It was Friday, and Dyl, Leesh, and I thought it would be more productive to cut our morning classes to work on our college applications. Trust me, we all sensed the irony.

Luckily, the weather was warm enough, so we sat underneath our favorite oak tree in the courtyard. This tree had been our little spot since we were freshmen, so it seemed kind of sentimental to be applying for the next stages of our lives there. It felt right.

Dyl chucked the pen back at Leesh with her scarily precise aim. "Come on, you're almost finished," she pointed out, "you've only got a couple boxes left."

"Fill them out for me?" Leesh asked with puppy dog eyes, handing her the manila folder containing her forms. "My hand's gonna fall off. I can't go to college with one hand, can I?"

Grudgingly, Dyl took the forms and finished filling them in. "Baby," she teased, "I hope NYU has a nursery for you."

New York University was our collective dream school. Leesh was determined to get into the Tisch School of the Arts program there for theater, while Dyl had her heart set on getting into the business school and kicking ass at soccer and basketball. For me, their science and engineering programs seemed like a good fit. And as a major plus, we would also not be split up across the country.

"If we get in," I remarked, always the cynic I guess. Unlike my friends, I didn't want to plan too much into a future at NYU until I had the acceptance letter in my hands.

Leesh rolled her eyes. "You're a shoo-in, nobody else has the science and math test scores you have."

"But I don't have any extracurriculars," I argued.

"Should've joined soccer with me!" Dyl chided with a grin, "it would've been a great outlet for all that anger."

Always sensible, Leesh said, "Extracurriculars are only one part of it. For lesser beings who can't get above 2200 on their SATs."

"Danny Robbins did better on the SATs than me," I countered, "and he's on the lacrosse team, Future Business Leaders Club, and is captain of the debate team."

"Danny Robbins is like the academic Macgyver, though," Leesh laughed, "he can't be beat."

"Yeah," Dyl deadpanned, "if awards were Pokemon, he'd be a master by now." She paused thoughtfully. "Maybe not Ash Ketchum status, but he'd be like...Brock."

"Ah," I began, feigning admiration, "more words of wisdom from Dylan Marvil."

"Shut up," she exclaimed before throwing a tiny pile of leaves right in my face. I threw another back, making full contact with her eyes. Quickly, Leesh joined in and we were in an all out leaf war, with fall foliage flying everywhere and the sounds of our shrieks probably deafening everybody but us.

"Hey," a male voice cut in our intense battle of immaturity, "what's going on here?" I didn't expect Cam of all people to be ditching a class (new kids never do), but there he was, casually eating some chips like he was on a leisurely Saturday walk.

Dyl recovered first, releasing Leesh from the choke hold she had her ensnared in. "We're talking about our menstrual cycles," she said innocently with a straight face, looking him dead in the eye.

Leesh and I exchanged glances of surprise, and then struggled to hold in our laughter.

"Awesome," Cam replied seriously, sitting down with us under the tree, "it's a subject I've been dying to learn more about." The three of us erupted in a fit of stereotypical teenage girl giggles.

"We're actually doing college applications," I explained, after I had stopped laughing. Then, I looked at my stack of unfinished applications: MIT, Caltech, and Columbia. "Trying, at least," I corrected myself sullenly.

"Where do you want to go, Cam?" Alicia asked brightly. She's always interested in where people intend on going in life, but that stems from her natural curiosity in people. Give Leesh about ten minutes with a person and she could find out their mother's social security number.

Cam popped another chip in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Don't know yet," he responded nonchalantly.

Dyl almost gasped. By this time of the year, most of the seniors at Briarwood had the rest of their lives planned out from their college major to their first child's name. At the very least their college chosen. "Well, what do you want to do?" she asked quizzically.

He shrugged. "Architecture, ideally." I nodded my head in understanding: it had the math and physics skills necessary, but with an artistic twist. "But I don't know, maybe I'll take a year off and go traveling or something."

"Haven't you traveled enough?" I couldn't stop myself from blurting that out. Instantly, I regretted it. I doubted Cam had told Olivia about his hippie upbringing from her semi-breakdown in the bathroom, so I could only assume it was something he just never brings up to people. Except to me.

Cam raised an eyebrow and chuckled, and waves of relief washed over me. So, I hadn't screwed it up. "Yeah, definitely," he agreed, "but I'd like to go to southeast Asia and maybe Africa. There's some really awesome buildings there."

"Like where?" I asked.

"There's a lot of great old buildings in Vietnam and Laos, especially the palace of Luang Prabang so I'd probably start there. And then in Africa, I've always wanted to see the Fasil Ghebbi in Ethiopia and the Leptus Magna site in Libya..." Cam spoke passionately with a glint of excitement in his eyes, the same one Leesh gets when she performs in front of a crowd or Dyl gets if she's about to score the game winning goal.

Nonetheless, they looked impressed.

"What about you guys?" Cam asked, turning the question back to us. The glint was still there, slightly faded. I had never heard anybody get so psyched about buildings before, but for Cam, I could see it. He's probably seen more in his seventeen or so years then I'll see in my lifetime.

"Theatre!" Leesh exclaimed with a giant smile, "Music education as a second choice."

Dyl responded, "Economics or accounting. Something involving money."

"Aerospace engineering," I stated with confidence. Usually, when people I wasn't close to asked me about my life goals, I always felt a little odd saying my career of choice. Mainly because they'd look a me, a private school girl who hangs on to her friends like they're her life support, and frown. Like they certain I couldn't do it and it was nothing but a fantasy, but they didn't have the guts to tell me otherwise. It bordered on pathetic.

I didn't get that feeling with Cam. Maybe it was because he was a science nerd too, or maybe it was because he just wasn't all that judgmental. Either way, when he tilted his head and nodded at me with approval, I felt like my pipe dream was a little closer.

The conversation turned from career aspirations to both the interesting and mundane. Almost fluidly, Cam meshed with our tight trio like he just belonged there. I guess I had never really realized that I wasn't the only person Cam got along with. Surprisingly enough, his observational ways came in handy as he could talk to Dyl about her upcoming soccer match and then Leesh about school play auditions.

It kind of eerie. Eerie, but nice. Forgetting that there are other people in our little world can be tough for me.

As Dyl and Cam settled into an easy conversation about the World Cup (turns out, Cam was in Germany for the 2006 tournament, lucky hippie boy), I smiled at him in sort of admiring way. You had to be brave to talk soccer with her. Leesh lightly nudged me and slid a piece of paper my way.

In her loopy script, she wrote, "_You could make it a little less obvious that you like him, you know_."

I snorted before scribbling back, "**Of course I like Cam. As a friend**."

"_Sure you do._

**You don't believe me?**

_Did I say that?_

**You implied it. Heavily implied it. And you're rolling your eyes.**

_Rolling them with the certainty that you're telling the truth._

**And that disbelieving shake of the head?**

_Shaking my head with confidence in your honesty, good sir._

**Liar.**

_Wuss._"

* * *

"I'm home!" I yelled out later that evening as I unlocked the front door to Casa del Block. Friday night meant a sleepover at the Marvil Manor tonight, so I was just going to make a quick pit stop and grab my things before walking over to her place.

The smell of citrus rice, spicy black beans, and beef greeted me. It was the scents of _pabellón criollo_, the rich and exotic blend of spices hit me so fast I hadn't even realized how hungry I actually was.

"Massie!" Inez, our housekeeper called out, walking out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Inez had been with our family for five years now, and I can honestly say she had became a surrogate mother to me. She was still young, in the early thirties or so, but with no husband or kids of her own, she had taken me under her wing.

She took a look at my rumpled uniform and sighed warily. "How many times do I tell you to iron your clothes before you leave?" Inez scolded, tucking a piece of dark hair back up in her ponytail. She was quite pretty, and from the stories she had told me, she was once the beauty of her little town in Venezuela. With her warm eyes and lovely smile, I'd believe it in a heartbeat.

"Sorry," I mumbled, putting away my sweater in the closet. "Is Mom and Dad here?" Seeing my parents was like seeing a full moon: it was nice, but not as often as you'd like.

She shook her head. "They left for Buenos Aires this morning," she responded, her accent stronger on the name of the Argentinian city.

Vaguely, I remember my mother telling me about their anniversary trip to South America, but to be fair, she also mentioned it while reminding me to get rid of the computer virus she had gotten by clicking on stupid internet ads. So, I wasn't the most attentive listener.

Here's the thing about my parents, Exam-Grader-Person: they're kind of unreliable. My mother is an ex-ballet dancer who married my father, who had recently made some serious cash in the tech boom of the '90s. Somewhere between buying a huge home in Westchester and bragging about their wealth, they had me. Now, I wish I could sit here and sob and complain about my less than stellar childhood, but the truth isn't so black and white. Sure, I wished my parents were around more, but I was an independent child. I was smart enough to manage without them hovering over me and watching my every move. Hell, I preferred it that way.

Plus, they never really got me. I remember my mother trying to sign me up for ballet lessons only to find out I was more interested in making mud volcanoes in the backyard. My father was interested in a short amount of time about my love of science, and was subsequently disappointed when I made it clear I was into the physical sciences and not computers. Regardless, they go their way and I go mine. Sometimes our lives intersect and sometimes they don't. We can't really help it, it's an unpredictable cycle.

"Oh," I said, looking around the empty house for a moment. "I'm going to Dyl's house anyway, so it doesn't—"

"No," Inez cut in firmly, "I made your favorite meal, you can go after you eat. Okay?"

"Okay," I conceded, walking with her to the kitchen and taking a place at the table of enjoy the offerings. As we ate, Inez entertained me with stories of what her wild nieces and nephews were up to lately, and even promised that this summer, she would take me with her to Venezuela to visit them.

"...ah, and Andrés, he breaks his mother's heart the way he goes out with those bad types of girls..." Inez went on dramatically before adding, "and he is only one year older than you, Massie, he's a nice boy..."

She's been trying to match me with one of her nephews for a while now. "Inez, I already told you that—"

Luckily I was saved by the frantic entrance of Isaac, my father's long suffering personal assistant. He was only a bit older than Inez, but I guess working for a Block will age you.

"Hey, Isaac," I greeted, my mouth full of the criollo. "Looking for Dad?"

Isaac sighed, "No, just looking for the files he wanted me to go over while he's gone." Immediately, Inez sat Isaac down at the table and started to load a plate with food for him, always the nurturer.

After relaxing a bit and eating some of the delicious food, Isaac turned to me and said, "So, how's the college applications going?"

"It's going," I replied, smiling a bit as I used Cam's enigmatic answer.

"Did you look at the stuff from MIT that I gave you?" As a graduate from the famous technical institute, Isaac was always pressuring me to go there instead.

"I did," I half-lied, "but NYU is still calling me, Isaac."

He feigned sobbing for a moment and we all shared a laugh. "As long as you do the engineering program," he said, "I guess you won't be a total disappointment."

"Shut up," I snorted. "NYU kicks MIT's ass at everything."

"Except producing intelligent, responsible, handsome graduates," Isaac said in a deep, booming voice as he pointed to himself.

"I'm sure that's their slogan," I deadpanned, "right below '_Talk Nerdy To Us...Please_!' "

"You've got your father's wit," Isaac stated, "luckily you didn't get his balding pattern."

Inez beamed at me proudly. "Oh, my Massie will give all the boys there a real running for their money." I couldn't help but smile at her praise, even if she got the idiom wrong. 'And then she'll make enough money to come and visit me back home any time she likes..."

It was a nice, heartwarming family moment. I won't lie, I haven't experienced much of those. But Inez and Isaac were good enough parents for me, title or no title. I highly doubted my mother and father knew what university I had my heart set on, let alone which specific field I wanted to go into.

"Aerospace engineering," Inez repeated when I had told her that's what I wanted to do, "they call it rocket science, no? You'll be in the stars, _mija_." She said it with a fierce determination, and I knew in that moment that besides Dyl and Leesh (and maybe Cam), I would always have Isaac and Inez in my corner.

"To infinity and beyond," I laughed.

* * *

**author's note: look at me updating a week later, I feel mighty productive! Isaac and Inez are the best pseudo parents, at least to me.  
**

**Once again, the feedback on the last chapter warmed my heart to the extreme, so thank you all so much for that. Feedback on this chapter would be lovely :)**

**xo,**

**Ren**


	6. an uncertain aura

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

**

* * *

**

The next few weeks brought along many changes in my life.

The biggest one was that Alicia and Chris Abeley became an official couple. Somewhere between Leesh snagging the lead in Briarwood's rendition of Funny Girl and Chris signing up to help with the music in between his classes at NYU, a real romance had bloomed. She was so ridiculously happy, like she woke up each morning to her birthday, Christmas, and the first day of summer.

"He's really...really something great," she gushed to me over the phone one night, a few days after they had gotten together. In a span of a few days, Leesh had basically told me everything I needed to know about Chris Abeley. He was like a father to his younger siblings, his second choice after becoming a musician was a graphic designer, and he thought it was really cute when she spoke quickly and sounded like she had a slight Spanish accent.

In other words, he was perfect. At least for her.

On the completely other side of the spectrum, Dylan had ended her seemingly never ending flirtation with Derrick Harrington that had gone on since sophomore year. Not that I blamed her, he has some serious commitment issues anyway. From what she told me, he wanted the physical aspect of a relationship only, and Dyl was simply not having that.

"Same shit, different shovel," Dyl sighed to Leesh and I at lunch. Leesh was still in Chris-mode, as she kept smiling every time she received one of his texts. Which was every five seconds, it seemed. Silently, I confiscated her phone and shoved it in my bag. Her smile didn't fade.

"Well, you guys probably wouldn't have worked out," I answered honestly as I took another bite of my sandwich. "One of you is an egotistical, stubborn, sports-obsessed jerk and the other is Derrick Harrington."

Dyl's only response was throwing a French fry at me.

"In all seriousness," Leesh began, taking it upon herself to finish the rest of my sandwich, "you're better off, Dyl. He pulled a major asshole move, only wanting to mess around. Not worth it."

Dyl groaned dramatically, scrunching her bright red locks in her hands in mock frustration. "Shit. Why is it so hard to find any interesting guy? You know, someone who's primary goal isn't to get some?"

"You don't need a guy," I piped up, my inner independence coming out, "And even if you did, and that's a pretty big if, you're not going to find any cool ones here."

Dyl and Leesh exchanged a tentative glance. "Really, Mass? There are no cool guys here?"

They were baiting me. In hind sight, I should've seen it coming. "Yes," I said slowly, trying to make myself sound as certain as possible.

"Funny you should say that," Leesh began, stroking her chin pensively. "What about that one guy? Tall with dark hair? Really smart, maybe as smart as you?"

"Yeah, I kinda know him," Dyl added, "he's the one dating a total shrew, right?"

"Right," Leesh confirmed. "He's got these crazy eyes and actually happens to be pretty chill?"

Exam-Grader-Person, I'm deeply ashamed to write this, but the vague descriptors of their mystery man went on far longer than it should have. Mainly because the clues just didn't compute in my head.

"Oh for goodness' sake," Dyl exhaled in frustration after I failed to identify the boy once more, "we're talking about Cam."

Oh, I thought, how did I miss that one? "And what does Cam have to do with me?" I asked testily, hoping my face wouldn't heat up, "we're just friends. In the loosest definition of the word."

"Oh go on," Dyl chided, "please tell us some more absolutely true facts. Like how the earth is flat? I could believe it, effing astronomers don't know what they're saying."

Leesh laughed while I sat there and fought the urge not to dump my Oreo blizzard on the both of them. "Come on," Leesh pressed on, "you gotta admit that Cam's..." She hesitated before finding the right word. "Interesting. Real interesting."

I shrugged. "He's Cam," I said nonchalantly.

What did they expect? I know they're my best friends, but there was no way in hell I'd suddenly crack and say, "He's the most intriguing person I've ever met and I can be a science nerd with him and he makes me laugh and I like that he's kind of a nomad and his smile would make a blind girl swoon..."

Because I didn't feel that. Because I don't feel like that, ever. Some of it, yes. But when you're someone like me, even admitting that I was fond of certain aspects of him would be on the same level of a public proclamation of love from a normal person.

"Aren't you going over to his house tomorrow?" Dyl queried, cutting through my mental monologue.

Cam and I had been slacking on our physics project, so we decided to sacrifice our Saturday to work. Not that I minded, of course, any chance where I can learn more about physics theories and laws is fun for me.

"Yup," I answered, "just two project partners working on their project. There's nothing weird about that."

They both stared at me with knowing smirks, leaving me to repeat with exasperation, "There's nothing weird at all!"

"Whatever you say, Mass," Dyl snorted, "whatever you say."

* * *

Contrary to what my friends may have believed, there was nothing weird about me going to Cam's house. Plus, tons of time has gone by, so his oh so lovely Olivia probably has been over there countless times and has met his parents. Probably, anyway.

(I really doubted it.)

Just to take precaution, I tried to make it painfully clear in my appearance that I wasn't going the extra mile to impress him. My hair was piled in a messy ponytail, while I was dressed in an old purple t-shirt and even older jeans. Having ridden my bike over to Cam's house, I was also a bit sweaty and red-faced. Perfect. I had achieved the physical state of "not giving a damn".

When looking at Cam's home for the second time, the bright yellow structure seemed more dilapidated. There were cracks in the paint and when the wind blew hard enough, some of the wood beams shook. But that didn't make me think any less of it, in fact, it did the opposite. Things are more interesting when you can see their flaws upfront.

Cam opened the door on the first ring. "Hey, Massie," he greeted kindly. He smelled like a strong mix of mint and pepper, a scent not found in just any mall cologne.

"Hi," I replied, hitching up my backpack and putting my bike away gingerly. He led me inside, and I heard a string of conversations between two other people. One was his mother Vidalia, I instantly recognized her cool tones. The other was a deeper, raspier voice. Almost like Cam's.

I was so busy thinking about the voices that I didn't noticed I bumped into someone. Not just someone. A very large someone. I'm on the taller side myself, but whoever this was could easily make me look like an Oompa-Loompa.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I muttered quickly, looking up the the person. It was a tall man, with tan skin and dark hair. Most of his face was obscured by a thick mustache and beard. But the eyes, the eyes I saw and knew. A deep ocean blue, not unlike the one Cam had.

Except I was too terrified of the man to actually register this.

He peered down at me curiously. "You must be Massie," he observed, with a faint untraceable accent, "Vidalia's told me much about your eyes."

This I wasn't expecting. I shot a glance at Cam, who was seemed to be enjoying my obvious awkwardness. "Um, yeah, that's, er, me. With the eyes. Amber colored," I stammered, hating myself for blushing.

The man's face broke out into a lazy smile. Cam's smile. "I'm Rowan," he said, extending a huge hand for me to shake.

I shook it, and tried to not to wince as he squeezed my hand much too tightly. Poor guy probably didn't know his own strength.

Vidalia waltzed into the living room, this time dressed in a bright magenta sarong. Her eyes widened once she saw me. "Oh, Massie," she mused, "I could sense your aura from the kitchen." My aura? Vidalia clicked her tongue, "It was quite distressed. Have you been eating well lately?"

Cam stifled a snort in the background.

"Um, uh, yeah," I answered the confusing statement as well as I could, while promising myself to do extensive research on auras, "I think."

Rowan nodded his head knowingly. "A little gotu kola enriched tea would fix that. Along with Valerian root, of course."

Vidalia clapped her hands together excitedly. "Oh, we have some in the garden!" She turned to me and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "Wait right here and—"

Cam cut in, much to my relief. I wasn't sure at all what gotu kola or Valerian roots were. "We've got to go work on our project," he interjected, gesturing me to follow him outside to our working spot on the patio.

As we walked away, I heard Vidalia call out, "I'll make you some gotu kola tea to take home!"

Once we were comfortably settled into our work area, I couldn't help but blurt out, "I like your parents." And it was the truth. Westchester parents were vastly different, the majority were more concerned with maintaining their millions than trying to give strange health advice to their children's friends.

He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Cool?" he repeated. Behind his fun mood, I could see little hints of disbelief in that one word.

"You know," I said slowly, "they're pretty unique."

"You're telling me that your parents don't comment on your friends' auras and try to give them gotu kola tea?" he asked quizzically.

I laughed. "What is gotu kola tea anyway?"

He cringed and made a face. "It's absolutely disgusting," he shuddered, "be thankful you didn't have to have it. I probably saved you from years of trauma."

"What a hero." I put a hand to my heart and pretended to wipe a tear from my eye.

"I try."

* * *

For the next few hours, Cam and I slaved over our project. It was a whirlwind of notes, fact checking, and endless typing. Eventually, we had to go back inside his house to get a decent wi-fi signal to do more research on the Internet. Though my hands were cramping and I had a slight headache from all the reading, I couldn't but be proud of the effort we had put into this. For the first time, working with someone else wasn't so bad.

"Okay," I said, glancing at the clock to see it was 6:43, "I should be heading home now. All that's left is finishing the power point slides, right?"

"Yup," he replied, closing his old laptop and sighing with relief of being done for the day. "If we don't get an A, feel free to key Mrs. P's car."

I frowned. "Why do I have to key her car?"

"Because you're probably gonna wreck her car eventually," he chuckled, "and this would be a perfect excuse. You know, if you don't go to jail for it." He paused thoughtfully. "But you'd have tons of time to work out and read, so it's kinda a win-win situation."

"Your care warms my heart," I deadpanned, gathering up my books and throwing it into my bag. Cam leaped up from his spot on the sofa to walk me to the door.

The second he opened the door, a gust of wind blasted into the house, whipping my hair out of its ponytail. The sky was a deep murky gray, a shocking difference from the idyllic sunny day it was only a few hours ago. A storm was coming, that was certain.

Cam closed the door and turned to me. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

I peeked out the window again. Sure, it was sort of dark out. But gray clouds and the smell of the air just before the rain was some of my favorite things. "Nah, it's cool," I replied, "it's not that far." It was actually a twenty minute bike ride if I was pedaling as fast as I could, but he didn't need to know that.

"Are you sure?" He looked outside as well. "It's really not that much of a hassle—"

"No," I repeated, "it's fine. Really. Thanks, though." With that, I said goodbye to Cam once again (who didn't look very convinced) and hopped on my bike to make the journey home.

The first few minutes of the ride back home was fine, the wind was propelling me forward, which only made it easier. It took a shift for the worse when I had to go against the wind, an impossible feat seeing as it was blowing at a rate of like fifty miles per hour. Give or take an exaggeration.

Like a troop, I barreled through the wind until I realized a very harrowing fact: I hadn't gotten very far at all. My body felt like it had biked to Russia, but I'd probably had only gone a few blocks. Not inspiring at all.

And then the worst happened. It began with a tiny drop of rain hitting my nose. Ignoring it, I continued my trek without a second thought. And then another drop of rain hit my head. And another. Before I knew it, it was almost as if the skies were opening up and literally dumping buckets of water from above. In seconds, the rain practically flooded the sidewalks, the grass, and my eyes. For a moment, I was drowning. Sure, it was scientifically impossible to actually be drowning in the position and area I was in, but it sure as hell felt like it.

There were only so many options I could take. Death by almost drowning? No. Try to keep on pedaling? No. Stay any longer trying to find a suitable option? Hell no.

So, without considering any more options, I shut off the analytical part of my mind and let my senses lead me to where I needed to go.

* * *

"What happened to you?" That was the first thing Cam said when he opened the door. With my tail between my legs, I walked (read: ran) my bike back to his house in an attempt to find shelter until the storm passed. However, I was still soaked to the bone and shivering. But shivers from the cold or the nervousness of letting him see me in such a state, I didn't know.

"The rain, the wind, the fact that I need to work on my endurance skills," I breathed out between shudders, "Everything."

"Looks like you swam here." With a slight snicker, Cam opened the door wider to let me the warm home. The heat from the house was so unbelievably welcoming that I didn't notice the Fishers had company.

Not just any company, though. Hippie company. Or, that's at least what I inferred from the cluster of about twenty peculiarly dressed people sitting around in a circle, consulting various pieces of parchment paper and lighting strong smelling incense. A few people were discussing astrology charts, while Rowan sat calmly with a sitar, singing in his low, gravelly voice. But they were all talking, loudly and lively; frantic conversations in an even more chaotic troupe.

"Massie!" Vidalia yelled out with a smile. She looked a little loopy, maybe she was high off everyone else's auras.

"Massie!" The group all repeated with gusto. I looked anxiously at my side, but Cam was nowhere to be found.

One of the ladies, a petite blond with hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in months piped up, "Are you here for the star reading?"

As I shook my head "no" politely, I couldn't help but notice two men passing around a joint in the background. The smell of incense and jasmine covered it up. Was this a habitual thing, these kind of gatherings, for Cam? I wondered how he dealt with it.

Just when a few of them tried to cajole me into joining them for a song, Cam reappeared by my side with a towel and some clothes.

"Cameron," a man with dreadlocks exclaimed, "is that your girlfriend?" The group all stopped their conversations to look at us curiously. Me? His girlfriend? Did they not see the way I was practically leaving puddles on their floor from stupidly trying to ride a bike in this weather? Olviia Ryan would never do that.

"She's a friend, Taj," he replied simply, "That's all."

"Yeah, that's what I said to my parents when I took girls upstairs," another man laughed crudely, and the rest joined in.

"Just a friend, you guys," Cam repeated with a hint of frustration, "that's it."

Despite the disbelieving looks that would impress Dyl and Leesh, Cam shrugged it off and led me upstairs.

We stopped at the bathroom and he handed me the stuff in his arms. "Here's a towel to dry off and, uh, some clothes."

"Thanks," I said gratefully. The chills were suspiciously gone.

Once inside the bathroom, I threw off my wet clothes (kept the undergarments, you perverts) and dried myself off as best as I could. My eyes were red and my hair was frizzing wildly, but at least I wasn't soaking or freezing anymore. Next matter of business was the clothes he left me. They were clearly some of his own; a faded blue shirt that said "_Novos tempos, novos costumes_" and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Both were clean, judging from the strong scent of detergent. Fearing the return of the cold, I slid the warm clothes on and opened the door of the bathroom.

"Oh, good, they fit," noted Cam as I bumped into him on my way out. He took the wet clothes from me. "Be right back. My room's directly down the hall."

Following his directions, I made my way into the lair of Cam Fisher. I won't lie, there was something thrilling about it all. He was such a private person, as it seemed, and seeing inside his room could be a once in a life time chance at looking at the psyche of Cam. Would it be messy or weirdly neat? Would he have posters or pictures on the walls? I wanted to know everything.

Cam's room was a shock to me. Not because it was cluttered or organized or covered in posters, but because it was empty. The oddly spacious room only had a mattress on the bare wood floors as a bed, a closet, and a small nightstand. Other than that, there was nothing. Nothing besides an uncertain aura.

"Snooping around?" Cam's voice made me jump back a little. I whipped around to find him holding two chipped, steaming mugs. "Tea okay?"

I recovered quickly and grinned. "As long as it's not kotu gola tea."

"Gotu kola," he corrected as he handed me a mug and sat down on the floor. I did the same. "And I wouldn't torture you."

"Good to know." An awkward silence followed suit as we sipped our steaming tea. It was really fantastic, sweet but spicy, soothing me the second I drank some.

The muteness lasted for a few more minutes, and I had nearly drained my entire mug. The storm was still going strong, but the sounds of the rain and wind were no match for the shindig going on below us.

"So," I began, slightly unsure, "your parents throw great parties, huh?" I tried to keep my tone light.

Cam coughed a bit. "Yeah, about that," he replied, looking into my eyes with great sincerity, "Sorry. They usually do this once a month."

"Do what?"

"Their star reading parties," Cam explained with a tiny flinch, "but it's usually an excuse to get their friends together, get high, and reminisce about the good old days."

I pondered over that for a moment. "Must be fun," I tried to be positive.

"Fun is one way to put it."

"How would you put it?" I asked immediately, the words flying out of my mouth without any consideration.

Cam leaned back against the wall and sighed. His eyes closed, and I knew in that tiny action that his answer would surprise me. "It's exhausting," he stated simply. I kept quiet, prompting him to go on. "Vidalia and Rowan don't really...get that it's not the good old days anymore, you know?"

I didn't really know, but I nodded like I did. From my previous conversations with him, I assumed he would stop right there and turn the conversation on me. But he didn't, not this time. Maybe it was already too late to go back.

He continued, "When ever people find out about my parents, they just think my life must be like Woodstock, twenty-four-seven. That it's a nonstop festival of music, drugs, and free love. That I must be having the time of my life with them." He exhaled deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. "They only see the surface, I guess."

"What's below the surface?" I questioned, hypnotized by everything he was saying.

Cam smiled bitterly. "Below it? It's paying the electricity and water bills when you're eleven because your parents forgot. It's trying to do your homework in a tent somewhere on the beach in Wales because they stopped for a music festival." Never before would I ever think Cam Fisher would be venting to me.

His eyes locked with my own. "It's convincing them you prefer the physical sciences instead of all their New Age beliefs."

"Wow," was all I could manage to say. My eyes widened when he said that, until I wondered why it never hit me before. Cam believed in facts and logic, while they put their faith in believing the possibly unbelievable. It was like Hermione Granger versus Luna Lovegood. To say it was probably rough on him was an understatement.

"Don't get me wrong," he started again, "I liked the traveling, I think it was good for me. And Vidalia and Rowan? They've taught me a lot. They're good people. Just not the best parents."

Now that especially resonated with me, because it was exactly how I saw my parents, just in a more eloquent and wise saying. My parents kept a roof over my head, paid for anything I could possibly need, and put me in a great school. But they weren't there to comfort me and truly try to understand me. They weren't awful, they just didn't know how.

And that was the moment where I knew Cam Fisher and I were, underneath it all, kindred spirits. "That's just..." I couldn't finish my sentence, but he nodded in a way that told me I didn't have to.

After a small beat, he added, "You're lucky, Mass."

Ignoring the genuinely nice use of my nickname, I queried, "How?"

He grinned a bit, almost like he was on some joke I didn't understand. "You've lived here your whole life, yeah?"

"Yeah." I never put it that way. Seventeen years in Westchester seemed suffocating.

"You've got a hometown, probably lived in the same house, known the same people." Cam fiddled with the collar on his shirt. "Man, it must be pretty nice to have friends like yours." My heart skipped a beat when he mentioned Dyl and Leesh. The three of us are always mentioned together, but I've never had anybody directly comment on our friendship.

"It is," I didn't hesitate to admit that.

"Shit, it's probably just good to have dependable people in general around you. Accountable people, people in your corner..." He drifted off, but I felt like that little tangent was something he meant to say to himself. There I was, dressed in his clothes and at his house and in his room, it was only fitting I learned more about him. But even then, I still felt like I just flipped the page on the book that was Cam Fisher. Progress, but there was an entire story to read and the ending was still too far away.

"Yeah, you're lucky, Mass," he repeated once more, his eyes brighter than ever, "you've got roots."

* * *

**author's note: Wowza, another monstrous chapter! The length is ridiculous, but it does the job. But we got to learn more about Cam, so that's good :) I like writing about his hippie parents. This is about the halfway point of the story, probably going to go for about 5-6 more chapters.**

**On a fun note, I'd really like to thank everyone who voted for my stories in the Clique FF awards! I was unbelievably psyched to see "It Takes A Thief" and "Friday, I'm In love" even be nominated, let alone be voted for and win anything. You guys are all amazing people, voters or not, and if I could bake each one of you a cake and I would in a heart beat.**

**Feedback on this chapter, as always, would be lovely. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed before!  
**

**xo,**

**Ren  
**


	7. eighteen candles

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

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* * *

**

From that point on, there was no shadow of a doubt that Cam and I were friends. We had to be, really. It was inevitable. He told me things that stormy night that I doubt he had ever said to anyone else in Westchester. When I left his house, Cam had quickly went from just a project partner/unknown-level-of-friend to bonafide confidante. Maybe not confidante, per se, but there's something about telling a person of the not so charmed life with their flaky hippie parents that could change a relationship.

You know in movies, where two people (usually the romantic leads) finally start to connect and there's this whole cheesy montage of them getting closer? Where they do fun things together, like go out to eat or watch movies or push each other on swing sets, all to the tune of some upbeat music? It's all so the googly-eyed audience can elbow each other in the theater and whisper, "_They're meant to be! Look at the way they laugh when he burns the cake_!" And the crowd goes, "_Awww_."

That's how the last month was for Cam and I. But not romantic. And not as lame. But, there was definitely a little friendship montage going on, I can promise you that.

But there was something. All of a sudden, I looked forward to physics class not only for the course material, but to have a chance to talk with Cam about, well, whatever was going on at the moment. Kemp Hurley's joking attempts to seduce Mrs. P (hilariously awful) in order to get a good grade, making stupid math mistakes that result in getting the whole question wrong, and any other day to day observances on the minutiae of everyday life.

We conversed out of physics class, too. Sometimes when Leesh, Dyl, and I would keep up our reputations as truants and ditch history class, Cam would come along too. It wasn't awkward to have him join our tight trio; he managed to be part of the conversation, but he did keep a small distance. You can't just throw yourself into a group, there's an art to it. An art, I was happy to notice, Cam was pretty good at. Leesh, Dyl, and I were the queens of inside jokes and "remember when..", so for Cam to keep up with us was nothing more than a noble feat.

But mostly, we talked over IM. Yes, Exam-Grader-Person, we young'uns don't just write letters any more. Sorry, Pony Express.

It began me asking him a quick question for our physics project, but it somehow developed into this routine, a ritual of some sorts. A ritual in quite possibly the nerdiest fashion ever.

**massiekur:** so helium walks into a bar and orders a beer. the bartender says, "sorry, we don't serve noble gases here." he doesn't react.

**reelbigfisher**: wow. really? did that joke really just happen?

**massiekur:** somebody sounds jealous of my humor.

**reelbigfisher:** why do you always jump to jealousy? maybe i didn't find it funny.

**massiekur:** please. i can hear you guffawing from here.

**reelbigfisher:** sup, hyperbole? i haven't seen you in forever.

**massiekur**: ….

**massiekur:** THAT IS EQUALLY LAME. good lord.

**reelbigfisher:** i'm glad you can admit your joke was lame, i was getting worried for a moment.

**reelbigfisher:** but while we're on the topic of top notch humor...

**reelbigfisher:** a hydrogen atom walks into a bar and says to the bartender, "hey buddy, you gotta help me, i lost my electron!" bartender says, "are you sure?"  
atom replies, "i'm positive."

**massiekur:** wow. really? did that joke just happen? i'm not guffawing.

**reelbigfisher:** go finish the homework you're putting off by looking up lame science jokes.

**massiekur:** make me, hippie boy.

It was almost as if this huge brick wall between Cam and I had collapsed, giving us the ability to speak like normal human beings to each other and joke around. We could make each other laugh, or at the very least relentlessly make fun of each other for failing at it. There was a precarious balance to our friendship, however. Certain issues were not discussed in detail. And by certain issues, I mean Cam's continuing relationship with Olivia.

Anytime I would try to be the laid back, non-threatening friend who just happened to be a girl and ask Cam how things were going with Olivia, he pull out his signature answer and say, "It's going." Well, it had been going for a few months by now, so I could only assume he meant that in a pretty positive way. Despite his look of ennui and desire to want to change the topic, of course.  
But sometimes, he wouldn't even say that. Just an uncomfortable silence.

Sometimes, I thought Olivia was like human form of the laws of gravity. Sure, gravity sort of ruined any dreams of people flying through the skies. But, without gravity, everyone would just keep floating up and up into infinity until we're nothing. At least with gravity, things are predicatble. You may not get to fly, but you also won't go further than you want.

* * *

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MASS!" Dylan screeched in my ear the morning of my birthday, not caring that almost everyone in the hallway turned around to look at us. Needless, to say, I wasn't expecting that kind of surprise so early in the morning.

Alicia wasn't too far behind, grinning brightly as she held a huge star-shaped balloon and a cupcake. Only she smashed the cupcake in my face as she yelled, "YOU'RE LEGAL!" This was our typical birthday tradition: a little noise, a little public humiliation, and a little frosting in your eye.

"Ugh, you guys," I laughed, wiping the strawberry frosting off of my face. So much for looking decent on my birthday. "Can't we ever just enjoy the cupcake? Must it be used as a weapon?"

Dyl gasped dramatically. "Never. Bite your tongue." I didn't have much room to talk; for her last birthday I had drawn a very flamboyant mustache on her face when she fell asleep in history. She didn't find it very celebratory.

Leesh handed me a tissue to clean up my face. "Come on, Mass, aren't you the least bit psyched for this birthday? You're eighteen!"

"Party!" Dyl yelled in response, pumping her fist in the air with gusto.

Truth was, my birthday was just not a big deal to me. Even as kid, it was an excuse to play up the whole "my-parents-aren't-really-parents" sympathy card to acquire gifts. There was not use to throw a huge party or get ridiculously excited, it came around once a year. Plus, the only people I would want at a shindig in my honor was Leesh, Dyl, Inez, and Isaac. And Cam, but there were certain complications to that.

A complication that happened to be heading our way.

"Massie!" Olivia cooed as she, Claire, and Kristen strutted over to our lockers. As usual, the trio looked way too good for a Friday morning. But then again, that's all they really did. Look good, that is. Part of me felt awful for thinking so lowly of them, as Kristen is really smart and I guess Claire is okay at photography, but it was mostly an attempt to rid my mind of the image of the almost superhuman Olivia venting to them in the bathroom. Olivia is a girl who despises pity, and I didn't want to give her any.

"Hmm?" I replied, taking a very unladylike bite of my cupcake.

Olivia put on a forced smile. "So, I, uh, heard it's your birthday?" she questioned, tugging on on of her flawless curls.

"I think the whole school did," I answered, shooting Dyl a death glare. She shrugged sheepishly.

Olivia didn't seem to be very impressed with my answer. "So," she began slowly, as if she was choosing her words carefully, "I'm sure you know it's my birthday too, then?"

There it was, Exam-Grader-Person. The million dollar half-question. Everyone knew it was Olivia's birthday, I'm sure the Dalai Lama was writing a card to her as she talked to me. It was only a cruel twist of fate that Olivia and I would share the same birth date. Although my birth took place in a taxi en route to the hospital, and her's was probably some sort of golden moment in a room fit for a Greek god, with harp music and rose petals.

I awkwardly shifted my weight to the other foot. "Yeah," I mumbled, failing at trying to sound nonchalant.

She smirked, but her usually piercing blue eyes weren't as sharp as usual. When I looked at her more closely, I noticed that something about Olivia was...off. Her uniform tie was crooked and she had a run in her tights. Her visage was stunning, but there was something going on that I couldn't quite place. It was like staring at a slightly blurred photograph, where you know the subject is beautiful but you can't help but think they're hiding something.

"Well, I'm throwing a little party tonight," she stated. Saying it was going to be a "little party" was a lot like saying a tsunami was just a "little rain."

I didn't say anything, so she continued, "And I want to make sure it doesn't conflict with anything you might be doing." Her voice was saccharine, but we all knew she was marking her territory. She didn't really give a flying flick about my birthday, she just wanted to rub it in my face that no matter what I did, hers would be better.

Behind me, I could just feel Dyl and Leesh about to say something in response, so I replied quickly, "No worries, it won't."

Olivia eyes lingered on me before exhaling and throwing on a brilliant smile. "Perfect," she said, gesturing to Claire and Kristen to make their exit. Not before she added, "You've got frosting on your cheek, Macy. Not the best look." She snorted lightly before strutting away, with Claire diligently following her.

Dylan muttered, "Bitch," under her breath; Alicia gingerly wiped the frosting off my cheek while going off in a very vulgar tirade in Spanish.

To my surprise, Kristen hesitated before trotting off with her friends. She shot me an apologetic smile and said, "Happy birthday, Massie," with a sincerity I wouldn't expect from somebody who associated with the school's princess.

"Thanks, Kristen," I mumbled. By the time I realized it would be best to smile back at her, she was already gone.

* * *

My birthday ended up being just as uneventful as it always was. Uneventful, but nice. Inez made me a special dinner—spicy garlic chicken, mashed potatoes, and fresh rolls—and invited Leesh, Dyl, and Isaac over as well. Dyl and Leesh made a my favorite chocolate cake, and Isaac brought a bottle of champagne for the occasion. He only let us have a bit of it, but I'm sure had bought it for himself anyway.

Present wise, I think I lucked out this year. Isaac got me a few books on astrophysics, which I had been secretly hoping for. Inez knitted me a sweater and gave me some jewelry that had been hers when she was younger. She said it felt right, because I was practically a daughter to her. Leesh bought me some clothes, her main reason being, "it was time you stopped dressing like a twelve year old boy, Mass." Dyl got me a few posters for my room, some funny and some inspirational, which is just like her. She and Leesh both chipped into to make me this huge candy basket, filled to the brim with chocolates, lollipops, and any other confection that would be sure to give me diabetes before I'm twenty.

As usual, my parents weren't there. But, they did remember to send me a little money in a birthday card, first class mail from Buenos Aires. It was a nice thought, I guess.

The festivities died down around nine o'clock. Isaac had to make the drive back to his Manhattan apartment, while Inez called it a night and went to sleep upstairs. Dyl had a soccer tournament early next morning, and Chris and Leesh were planning on going to the Met tomorrow. Before I knew it, my house was empty. It was funny, though. Several miles away, Olivia's house was probably packed.

Exhausted, I threw on my favorite pajamas—the old Strokes t-shirt and bright neon green sweats—grabbed my candy basket and a few DVDs and ventured to the living room. With a few blankets and pillows, I had made myself the perfect little hermit hideout to celebrate being eighteen in peace.

Halfway through _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was Leesh or Dyl and they had simply forgotten something, I forced myself out of my little cave of warmth to open the door.

Maybe I should've been a bit more cautious to just opening the door so willy-nilly in the night hours, but hey, I'm eighteen now. I can vote. I can buy cigarettes. I was high off of my own rights. Who cares if there was an axe murderer at the door? I was an adult.

But it wasn't an axe murderer, as I discovered once I opened the door and a gust of cool night air hit me in the face.

Cam.

There he was, standing right on my door step. He was dressed in a wrinkled shirt, loose tie, and frayed pants. As always, his haphazard style always worked for him and made it seem almost intentional, even though I knew it wasn't.

"Hey," he greeted, grinning sheepishly.

There were many things to say, beginning with, "How did you get my address?" I blurted out immediately upon seeing him.

He shrugged lazily. "Dylan gave it to me," he said simply, as if it explained it all. When in fact, it did the complete opposite. Had they been talking lately? About me? About my house?

"Oh." Suddenly, I felt very self-conscious in my pajamas. And my hair? Probably resembled a lion's mane. I wasn't a very pretty hermit.

In hopes of avoiding a bit of silence, I quickly added, "So, what's up with the tie?"

Cam looked down at his outfit and winced. "Olivia's birthday party. Black tie affair."

I tried to choke down my sudden desire to go to her party. "I see you're taking it literally."

He laughed hoarsely. "Yeah, well, what can you do?" Cam handed me a box messily wrapped in newspaper; I hadn't even noticed he was holding it.

"Happy birthday," he said brightly, looking at his awful attempt to wrap the present with pride. I've got to say, it was kind of endearing.

Still, I wasn't expecting that at all. Shit, I wasn't expecting him to be at my door. Or for him to even consider buying me a present. He was just a whirl of broken expectations, that boy.

"Wow," I said in mild astonishment, "thanks, Cam. Really."

Cam's smile widened. "No problem," he replied as he looked at his watch and frowned. "Shit. I've gotta go, I should've been at the party thirty minutes ago."

A pang of guilt hit me in the stomach; Olivia was probably in some sort of blue blood rage. "Sorry," I couldn't help but say.

"It's not your fault," Cam assured me, fixing his tie and pulling out his car keys. My eyes flicked to the car in the back, a beat-up blue clinker. Very Cam. "But yeah. Happy birthday. Hope it's a good one, and you like the gift."

"I will," I said without thinking, almost surprised at my own certainty. With a little salute, Cam walked back to his car and left, leaving a stream of smoke in his wake.

Locking the door behind me, I carried the medium-sixed box back to my blanket cave. As delicate as I could, I unwrapped the newspaper and opened the lid of the box.

It was a book, aptly named _The Science Guy's Guide to Women_. Flipping though it, I couldn't help but crack up. Each page had a funny illustration and an even funnier pick-up line that would put my nerdy ones to shame.

There was also a CD, with some obscure band that I've never heard of, but they seemed mellow enough. I put the CD in the speakers, the sounds of acoustic guitars and soft voices serenading me as I pulled out the final piece to his present.

Lastly, I found a note at the bottom of the box. Nothing special, just a folded up piece of notebook paper with "MASSIE" scrawled on the front in Cam's signature script. The message was small, but the sentiment was big enough for me to see clearly:

_"Massie,_

_I thought about gotu kola tea, but then I remembered I like you._

_-Cam"_

The time flew by as I spent the rest of the night reading my book and listening to the music, an offbeat mix when I thought about it. When the clock struck midnight, I was only vaguely aware that my birthday was over, and even less conscious of the fact that it was probably the best one yet.

* * *

**author's note: yikes, haven't updated in a while! i've been busy with exams, which is ironic as this fic is supposed to be an exam for massie. oh, well xD sorry if this chapter doesn't make a lot of sense, i'm half awake at the moment but determined to update.  
**

**thanks for all the lovely reviews! you guys are truly the best :) hope you like this chapter as well!  
**

**xo,**

**Ren  
**


	8. dangers of the spice girls and adulthood

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

* * *

After my birthday, I didn't quite get into the feeling of being an adult like I should have. For some reason, I held on to the strange daydream that the weeks after I turned eighteen, I would evolve into this responsible, mature, accountable grown-up. Instead, I spent that time re-reading all of my Harry Potter books, wasting a ridiculous amount of my birthday money on a massage chair, and insisting on taking Dylan's little cousins to Chuck-E-Cheese's just so I could eat the pizza.

But the pinnacle of my adult-childhood stage was when I was too excited hearing a Spice Girls' song on the radio (say nothing, Exam-Grader-Person) while I exited Alicia's car in the parking lot. As expected, recounting the days of singing along and then later denying I ever did proved to be too much of a task to do while walking.

The second I decided to hit the high note in "Say You'll Be There" was the exact second I tripped and hit the pavement of the parking lot. No hands to break my fall; nobody predicted my gaffe and stopped it before it happened. It was a combination of the gravely road, my most slippery shoes, and my lack of basic coordination.

"Shit!" I winced, struggling to get back in sitting position. Leesh and Dyl immediately rushed to my side, but the look on their faces told me that my throbbing and burning leg was definitely not just a little scratched. Dyl turned a slight shade of green, like she always does when she sees blood. Even Leesh, the most desensitized of our trio, put a hand to her mouth to stop any forthcoming vomit.

Inhaling deeply, I assessed the damage. My knee was skinned badly, the blood seeped through the leg of my jeans. My calves were no better, equally cut up in a manner that made it look like I had just lost a fight with a particularly vengeful bear. Whatever part of my leg wasn't bleed still hurt like hell and was bruised. Who knew singing to your friends could be so dangerous?

Before I knew it—possibly due to how much blood I was losing or because the excruciating pain was just hitting—I felt dizzy and faint. If Leesh and Dyl hadn't swalliowed their fears of blood and other maladies and helped me to the nurse's office, I would have probably passed out right on the spot.

When we got to Nurse Adele's office, I fought to hold back tears. I couldn't help it; irony had a way of reverting me back to a state of childlike pain tolerance when I was supposed to be Massie Block: The Grown-Up. It was disheartening, to say the least.

"Oh, Massie," Nurse Adele said, taking me from my friends and to a chair so she could clean up my leg. Nurse Adele and I bonded over my chronic nosebleeds freshmen year and her penchant for subscribing to National Geographic. "What happened?'

"The Spice Girls," we answered in unison.

The first bell rang, and Leesh and Dyl shot me apologetic smiles before hurrying off to their classes. Not that I noticed, I was too busy flinching from the burning alcohol and the painful pressure of the bandage.

"Well," Nurse Adele sighed, handing me a pair of Briarwood Athletics sweatpants to wear in lieu of my ripped and bloody jeans, "take this hour off to rest in the back on one of the beds. I'll excuse you from your class."

"Thanks," I murmured through clenched teeth, limping to the bathroom to change. Changing was difficult, but I managed to get into the baggy black sweats eventually. Hobbling out of the bathroom, I practically collapsed on one of the beds. Skinning your leg and trying to keep up with Ginger Spice's vocals was exhausting.

A voice piped up next to me, "Hey, Massie."

Opening my eyes, I peered over to see Kristen of all people. It was eerie to see her without Olivia or Claire, but then again that's probably what people thought about me and my friends when they saw us alone. She was still in her soccer uniform, her face red from an intense practice (Dyl, cocky as she was, seldom showed up to the optional morning workouts). Then, I noticed the huge ice bag she nursed on her ankle and the pain in her eyes as she smiled.

"Hi, Kristen," I responded, remembering how she's the tolerable one of the bunch. "What happened to you?"

She cringed. "I got a little too aggressive playing offense." Kristen gently lifted the ice to reveal a purple, swelling bruise that made mine look like nothing. "There's a reason I stick to defense."

I laughed, "Wow, what's the damage?"

Kristen's face fell. "No off-season soccer and if it doesn't heal properly, no track in the spring either."

"That sucks," I replied with sympathy and she nodded her head in agreement.

We sat in a somewhat awkward silence before she asked, "What are you in for?"

I attempted to smirk through my own agony. "Oh, uh, I just finished one of my drug deals and a customer refused to pay up. I ended up using my leg as a shield from his knife."

Her bright blue eyes widened with shock.

"That was a joke," I clarified, repressing a laugh. Luckily, Kristen didn't and she snickered heartily.

In the span of the next fifteen minutes, I found myself actually having an enjoyable conversation with Kristen Gregory, one third of what I had thought was the most soulless trifecta out there. Turns out, she was much wittier than I ever gave her credit for, even if she didn't quite get my crime related humor. We talked about college (Brown was her first choice), music (she was going to a Strokes concert this weekend), and family (her sister was getting married in a month).

Somehow, I told her some things about myself as well, namely how I wished I could have a fraction of the athleticism she and Dyl boasted and how I spent the last weekend trying to make my own magnets. The latter of which is something I wouldn't advertise to someone who hangs around with Olivia and Claire, who would undoubtedly make an inaccurate crack about how magnets were the only things attracted to me.

The bell for second period came around much to quickly, and I groaned at the prospect of getting up from my comfortable position to go to English. My leg was still killing me, but Kristen helped me up kindly while struggling to keep balance of her own. She's a tough girl, she had to be.

As she held my elbow so I could slide on my backpack, she blurted out, "It wasn't your fault, you know."

Maybe the pain had reached to the point where I wasn't able to comprehend words correctly, or maybe the ibuprofen I took was stronger than I thought. Either way, confusion etched on my face as I said, "What's not my fault?"

She frowned. "Cam and Olivia," she mumbled like she wasn't supposed to have said anything to me.

Cam's name plus Olivia plus a guilty Kristen equaled my heart nearly thumping out of my chest. "What about them?" Jumping to conclusions seemed like a very dangerous game to play at that moment.

The last minute bell rang loudly in my ears, but I was too intently focused on the upcoming words from Kristen's mouth to notice. Shooting me an enigmatic smile with hints of regret, she gathered her own bag and headed toward the door. Before making her exit into the crowded hallways and the crowd she belonged into, she locked her eyes with mine.

"Their break-up. It was bound to happen, it's not because of you. Just so you know."

* * *

Limping my way as fast as I could to the parking lot at the start of lunch, thousands of questions buzzed through my mind. Why did Cam and Olivia break-up? Why did Kristen tell me it wasn't my fault? Did Olivia think it was my fault? Does Olivia have access to weapons?

Finally, I successfully hobbled to Leesh's car, where she and Dyl were in a heated conversation about the merits of A Slice of Heaven versus The Opa! Greek takeout joint. I was embarrassingly out of breath the time I reached them, prompting myself to perhaps take up Dyl's constant offers of jogging together.

"Cam and Olivia," I managed to sputter out between inhaling, "Broke up. They're over. Kristen told me just now. Can you believe it?" Oxygen had never felt so good to breathe in.

Dyl and Leesh briefly glanced at each other furtively. They awkwardly shuffled their feet; Dyl was suddenly very interested in her cell phone and Leesh was fascinated by her bracelet.

Silence.

"Oh my God," I said finally, translating their body language into plain English, "you two _knew_."

Another silence.

"How'd you find out? Does everyone know but me? You would think everybody would be talking—"

This time, Leesh spoke up and said, "Cam told us that they're not trying to publicize it."

I could have passed out from the utter shock. "You gotta be shitting me," I exclaimed, leaning against the car out of a weakness in my legs, "Cam told you? When?"

"This weekend," Dyl began uncomfortably, "We went to the movies, but you decided to stay home to play with your magnets and massage chair—"

"I'm gonna return it," I cut in pitifully.

"—and he happened to be there watching the same movie, so the three of us got food afterward and we started talking and we asked where Olivia was and why wasn't she with him and he said they were over," she finished in one breath.

Absorbing all the information, I was surprised to find that there was only one question about it on my mind. Not why they broke up or even who did the breaking up in the first place. Sure, those were major components to it all, but for some reason, they just weren't that important at the time.

"How long have they been broken up for?"

Leesh exhaled, "A little over three weeks."

I tried to piece together that time frame in regards to Cam and Olivia's behavior. "And nobody knows?"  
Both shook their heads. "They're keeping it pretty low-key," Dyl answered, "but he said that they're on good terms about it."

"So," I stated with a bit of a disappointed frown, "why did you guys tell me about it?"

They traded another look of guilt. Dyl said,"Cam asked us not to tell anyone—"

"Since when am I just anyone?" I countered, anger pricking my words.

"You know what she means, Mass," said Leesh, biting her lip nervously, "and he specifically told us not to tell you. Yet."

Instead of a wave of rage, it was more of a typhoon of hurt that washed over me. They were my best friends, surely they could have told me anyway. They owed their loyalty to me, not Cam. And Cam! How could he tell them before me? I was the link to his friendship with Leesh and Dyl, I was the common denominator. But there they were, hanging around and going to movies and sharing secrets without me. And that hurt more than my leg could ever have.

Swallowing down my overwhelming desire to run (or limp) away in heartbreak, I meekly whispered, "Why?"

Their sudden mischievous grins and sparkling eyes nearly gave them away, while I barely noticed the scent of mint, pepper, and sandalwood wafting in the air. "I don't know," Dyl replied teasingly, "why don't you ask him yourself?"

And then I turned around to be face to face with Cam Fisher, smiling brighter than I had ever seen him before.

* * *

"Explain yourself, Cameron." After Leesh and Dyl made a particularly weak excuse to leave Cam and me together, he took one look at my bandaged leg and assisted me to his car so we could talk. We sat on the hood of the beat-up automobile, literally the only people left in Briarwood's vast parking lot.

"Explain what?" Cam asked, raising an eyebrow. I was not willing to play any games with him; you'd better believe I was still pissed he left me the last to know about his break-up.

Scoffing, I responded, "You. Olivia. The lack of "and" any more. Tell me."

"Don't beat around the bush, Mass, tell me how you really feel," replied Cam dryly. "I take it Alicia and Dylan spilled the metaphorical beans?"

"You should've thought twice about giving them those metaphorical beans." He laughed, albeait slightly bitterly. "And no, it was Kristen," I added.

Surprise briefly flashed across his relaxed face. After fidgeting with his woven hemp wristband for a while, he said simply, "I didn't really want you to find out like that."

"Like what?" I couldn't help but ask.

He sighed deeply and said, "There's a danger to secondhand information."

"Like what?" I repeated.

"Well," he started thoughtfully, seeming to carefully pick his words, "you could find out the wrong stuff at the right time, or the right stuff at the wrong time. It's like a gigantic game of telephone sometimes. Unless you hear it directly from the source, those wrongs and rights might not even be the truth."

"And plus," he added before I could have a chance to retort, "I didn't want you to get the wrong idea." A light smile grazed his features, I knew that further pressing this issue wouldn't go anywhere. So, I changed tactics.

Taking a long sip of my Coke, I asked, "Why'd you guys end it? Dyl was about to make some serious cash from the soccer guys if you lasted another couple weeks." I added the last bit in to elevate the mood.

"If only she had told me," he joked. Pausing a moment to collect his thoughts, he mused, "We just wanted different things, you know? There was no cheating, no fighting, nothing. Just two people who realized we weren't as good together as we'd hoped." He recounted the event like a distant story, one he hadn't quite cared to remember fully.

"Sounds very mature."

"It kinda was," Cam admitted sheepishly. "A nice, mature, mutual break-up. Really short and honest, no tears at all."

"So why keep it a secret for three weeks?"

He mussed his hair. "It was around her birthday and she was really stressed about planning her party and she still needed a date and so we agreed to keep it under wraps until we were both ready and yeah..."

Cam trailed off, then said, "Except nobody else will respect it, they'll try to make it dramatic." He snorted. "Give it a day after the word goes that we've been over, and I'll be hearing rumors about how I'm banging Olivia's maid behind her back."

I joined in, "Don't sell yourself so short, it'll be her personal shopper that you're doing."

We shared a laugh, a platonic, nonthreatening laugh. When I stopped, I had to be a bit serious and say, "I'm kinda proud of you, Cam. Most guys wouldn't have the guts to have a nice, mature, mutual break-up with Olivia. Or anyone. It's amicable."

"I expect a medal in the mail for being such a gentleman."

"I didn't say that." Then, I realized that I never found out the purpose of our little field trip to his car for conversation because I was so wrapped up in the Olivia debacle. "Why did you want to talk anyway?"

"Always with the questions," he quipped, and then dug something out of his coat pocket. It was two tickets to some kind of show. "The Cavaliers are in town—you know, I gave you their CD for your birthday?"

I nodded. I wouldn't dare say it, but the band's album had been on a constant loop ever since I first listened to it. Something about their wispy vocals and introspective lyrics got to me, no matter how utterly lofty that sounded.

"It turns out the lead singer is from Westchester so they're playing a show here. I won two tickets from a radio giveaway..." He faced me with a rakish grin. "You wanna go?"

"Yeah," I exclaimed almost immediately, quickly regretting my outburst. "I mean, sure, it sounds cool, I guess." It was nothing short of a miracle that I could manage to even agree to go with how much blood my heart must've been pumping.

Then, a parade of Mercedes, Range Rovers, and BMWs flooded the parking lot. Hastily glancing at my watch, the fact that lunch was almost over was unforeseen. Something about Cam made time just fly by. It was both wonderful and disappointing.

"Great," Cam remarked, hopping off of the hood and helping me down gingerly. Funny, I had forgotten that I was practically one-legged. "I'll pick you up at eight on Saturday?"

"Sounds cool," I struggled not to stutter. Why oh why did my SAT verbal skills constantly fail me? A swarm of chatting and hyper students passed us, but I did my best to keep my eyes on his regardless.

Suavely tipping an imaginary hat to me, Cam said the three words that would most definitely be the cause of my subsequent mental anxiety attacks over the next few days.

"It's a date."

* * *

**author's note: Oh goodness, I am absolutely so sorry for being so MIA here. Gah, I've been unbelievably busy. My sister recently got married, and naturally she must outshine Kate freaking Middleton and Prince William in the extravagance department. So, let's all blame her for the lack of updates :p**

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Oh, neurotic Massie will be in full force next chapter. Thanks so much for all the great reviews for the last chapter, you guys are all wonderful and make me forget about the horrors of being a bridesmaid :D**

**Be sure to tell me what you thought of this one!  
**

**xo,**

**Ren  
**


	9. the many synonyms for friends

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

* * *

Let me start off by saying this: when a boy like Cam Fisher says, "_It's a date_", it's only natural for me to freak out.

Monday and Tuesday were insignificant, the fact that I'd be going to a concert—alone!—with Cam hadn't registered. We still cracked jokes in physics at the expense of Kemp Hurley, Mrs. P, and ourselves. Cam hung out with Leesh, Dyl, and me at lunch, keeping up with our fast-paced conversations and suggesting new places to eat. It was almost like the fact of our upcoming Date (capital letters necessary) was irrelevant to our strong friendship. Almost.

But then Wednesday came along. The four of us were at The Noodle Hut, a Polynesian-Thai restaurant, for lunch and Dyl had been raving about some movie she wanted us to see this weekend. She claimed it was _Amelie_ meets _V for Vendetta_, which could either be the worst or greatest thing ever. Halfway into checking her phone for Saturday movie times, she stopped herself abruptly.

"Oh, right," Dyl mused, traces of a wry smile tugging at her lips. She looked pointedly at Cam and me. "You two have plans this Saturday. My bad, I forgot."

(She didn't, by the way. She just wanted to see me fidget.)

Thursday would've been a good, anxiety-free day until physics. As expected, the Date was starting to loom over me, yet Cam had failed to bring it up again since asking me to the concert. This led me to stare at him peculiarly (a poor attempt at mind reading) as he worked out a Wave function equation on the front board.

Unfortunately, Kemp caught me staring. "Hey, Block," he called out crudely from his seat across the room, "why don't you stop eye-banging Fisher and take some notes?" The class erupted in a fit of snickers while a blush crept up my cheeks.

Before I could snap something back at him, Cam turned around and said, "Would you prefer it if I moved over there so _you_ could get a better view?" Kemp reddened a bit, and the class started laughing harder, myself included. Before turning back to his work, Cam's eyes lingered on mine for a moment. And then he winked. I tried not to pass out.

Friday rolled around and Cam finally mentioned the Date. It was spur of the moment, like he himself had just remembered it. On my grudging way to English (no more ditching for me), I bumped into him in the hallway.

"Hey," he began, "so whenever you wanna pay me back for the Cavaliers tickets, just give me a heads-up."

I froze. I was supposed to pay him back? Why didn't he ever mention that? Oh, God, he probably thought—

"I'm joking, Mass." Clearly he had noticed my look of terror. "We're still on though, right? No drug deals or bank robberies you haven't told me about?"

I squeaked out, "None. For now, anyway. Who knows where the night will take us?"

He cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. "Yeah," he answered, though it seemed slightly distant, "who knows?"

And then Saturday came and everything went to shit.

Firstly due to a particularly crazy Friday night sleepover at Dyl's house—complete with car chases, turtle racing, and a rather large barrel of maple syrup—I trudged back to my house at five in the afternoon. Collapsing on my bed, the only thing I had on my mind was some aspirin and a long nap. Until I got this text:

**from: cam isnotafish**

**msg: are you a pre-show or after-show dinner sort of gal?**

Firstly, I admired the play on his last name that showed up every time he messaged me.

Next I thought, "After-show, of course."

Following that, I pondered, "What show?"

And then I realized, "HOLY BUCKETS, I AM GOING OUT WITH CAM FISHER IN THREE HOURS! FUCK!"

He was going to be the death of me.

What happened after my epiphany was a montage of me ripping through my closet trying to find something suitable to wear. There seemed to be an endless array of jeans, various t-shirts, and the occasional cardigan. Suddenly, I could feel my inner self-rage building. Why did I never buy any nice shirts? Or flattering pants? Or shoes that weren't meant for middle school boys?

There was only thing do in this kind of situation.

Not wasting any time, I scribbled a note telling Inez of my whereabouts and my plans for the evening and set off in a sprint out of the house. Though my running abilities could only work for about three minutes, I still made it to Leesh's house in record time.

As always, I rapped on the Rivera's front door before letting myself into their sprawling, decorative home. Usually, I stop and take a moment to look at some of their art collection that stretched around the living and dining room, but there was no time for appreciation. This was serious.  
"Massie!" Leesh's father greeted me with his signature hearty laugh. From his Barcelona soccer jersey and old sweatpants, you would never know that he was one of New York's esteemed lawyers. He put down his newspaper. "To what do I owe this surprise?"

"Image crisis, Len," I stated glumly, making my way up to the staircase. "Is Alicia home?" I actually didn't mind if she was home or not, seeing as the Riveras were totally cool with me ransacking her room for clothes while she was out. Any time I have to dress up for something, her closet is the first place I look.

He nodded. "Indeed she is, but fair warning—" I never heard the last part of his sentence because I practically flung myself at the stairs in the ascent to her room.

"ALICIA BELEN SANTIAGO DE RIVERA!" My dramatic exclamation of her full name echoed in the hallways. I burst through the door to her room without any further notification. Once I went in, I quickly understood Len's "fair warning".

Chris and Leesh were huddled on her bed, watching an old movie on her TV with rapt interest. Nothing scandalous there, but I could see why her dad would want to give me a head's-up. See, not only was I unprepared for the Date, I was also ruining theirs.

"Am I interrupting something?" I stared at the two of them with what I hoped was puppy dog eyes.

Leesh set the movie on mute. "Just the brilliance of Katharine Hepburn."

"Alicia Belen Santiago de Rivera?" repeated Chris, grinning at Leesh. "Why did you never tell me you had such a badass name? And, hey, Massie." Chris was sympathetic to the plights of the insane, namely me. And he was just nice. I saluted him for his friendliness.

Leesh snorted and sat up from her comfortable perch. "It's not badass. Just a pain to write on government forms," she replied before turning to me. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the concert?"

Groaning, I sank into one of her beanbag chairs. "That's the problem. I don't know how to get ready for a concert."

"You put on some decent clothes, find your seat, and try not to get thrown in a mosh pit," Chris remarked, "it's not a very difficult concept." He had plenty of experience with concerts, as his band had recently booked a gig in Williamsburg.

"You don't know Massie," laughed Leesh. She jumped off the bed and headed for her huge closet. "Welcome to my kingdom," she said dramatically, throwing her arms in the air like a showgirl.

I could've married her. Within minutes, she picked out a nice outfit for me to wear that remained true to my nonchalant style. Her pair of vintage cigarette pants, a plain gray shirt, and a cropped navy blue military jacket. Unfortunately, Leesh took away my trusty Vans in favor of some flats. After a sending a text to Cam asking if he could pick me up at the Rivera's (he didn't question it, thank goodness), a quick shower, and a lost brawl with a hair straightener—I was ready.

Ready for this night. Ready for the concert. Ready for Cam.

And then Chris peered out of the window and said, "Massie, your boyfriend's here."

Before I could indignantly say he wasn't my boyfriend (the sentiment was appreciated), the precious confidence I had built up came crashing down and left me with the remains of the dreaded emotion: fear.

I was going out with Cam Fisher.

I was not ready.

* * *

"Okay," I began hours later as we exited the lounge of The Cavaliers show and into the lobby of the venue, "that was _amazing_." And really, it was. From the sound of the first guitar strum to the vocalist's last breathy lyric, it was three hours of pure musical euphoria. Riding the high of my glee, I couldn't help but twirl a little. Really, me, Massie Block, twirling. It was fantastic.

Cam was, too. After Leesh and Chris practically pushed me and my shaky legs out of the house and toward Cam, he promptly got rid of any anxiety I was silently experiencing. He made jokes, he sang along badly to the radio, and gave me a rundown of the band to get me pumped for the show. He didn't look half bad, either. We took the same fashion cues—still plainly ourselves, but dressed just a little bit better. Of course, just a little bit better ended up looking ridiculously cool on him, but what can you do?

He beamed. "Amazing sounds insulting. How about..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What a thousand angels trained by Freddy Mercury and Ella Fitzgerald would be like if they were on performance enhancing drugs?"

"Too wordy," I teased. "The musical version of sex?"

"Too crude. The sound of Christmas, Thanksgiving, and New Year's Eve, if that sound happened to be produced by a group of ragtag English musicians?"

"Once again, too wordy." I closed my eyes and tried to remember the sensation of hearing this band live. "Why don't we just stick with amazing?"  
"Amazing sounds amazing," he agreed, rubbing his stomach. "I'm starved. They're selling gyros at that booth over there." He pointed across the lobby. "What do you say, wanna be adventurous?"

Frowning, I asked, "What's a gyro?"

Cam clutched his chest in utter shock. "Are you telling me," he gasped, "that you've never experienced the wonderment that is a gyro?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you, yes."

Shaking his head at me in disappointment, he said, "Wait right here. I'm about to change your life drastically for the better." With that, he went off in the direction of that so-called wonderment.

I plopped down on one of the benches, soaking in my night so far. For a moment, I had to wonder why I felt so damn scared to go. The music was amazing, Cam was fun to talk to, and apparently my life needed fulfillment in the form of gyros. It was a classic case of worry ruining amusement, the brain's natural rivals. What was there to be even remotely worried about?

"Massie?" Uh oh. I thought way too soon. The voice was oddly familiar to me, and when I snapped out of my inner monologue, I saw why.

Landon Crane was always full of surprises.

"Landon?" I sputtered out, squinting at him like he was a mirage in the desert. "Is that you?"

His signature smirk hadn't changed a bit. "No, it's Benito Mussolini," he snorted. Instantly, a wave of feelings came over me. Surprise. Confusion. And the dreaded Anxiety.

Let me give you a little backstory, Exam-Grader-Person. As I had very briefly mentioned before somewhere amidst this growing stack of paper, Landon Crane is my ex-boyfriend. We dated for a couple months while I was a junior and he was a senior, breaking up at the start of last summer because he was going off to Brown University and I was getting bored with the whole relationship business.

But, I won't deny my previous fondness for him. Landon wrote politically minded poetry, drove a vintage Mustang, and had an opinion on almost everything. Mostly, I liked him because he was a bit of an outcast. Though on the fringes of popularity, his outspoken views on the environment ("It's sickening the way everybody takes so much and gives so little," he complained to me) and the wealth of his peers ("I'm sure that trust fund would be better spent helping Peruvian orphans instead of throwing a yacht party," he would say to anybody throwing a yacht party. I don't know what was worse, the fact that Landon had never donated a cent of his own money to Peruvian orphans or that people threw yacht parties so frequently) pushed him away from the crowd. Naturally, our relationship fizzled out. Mostly because he could kind of be a self-righteous assface. Yet, that didn't stop my stomach from doing a thousand nervous flips from the sight of him.

"So," I tried to keep my composure, "what are you doing here?" Even though I had stood up, Landon still towered over me.

Landon smiled smugly. "Petitioning the owner's choice of letting Thumpback Whale perform here." My blank expression caused him to add, "they featured a whale being mistreated in one of their music videos."

I looked at his clipboard quizzically. Only five signatures. "What exactly did they do to the whale?"

"They featured an innocent creature in a cheap, lazy music video, for starters." Has he always been like this? I guess I was really blindsided by his poems, which weren't even that good, to be honest.

"Oh, well, uh, that's not good?"

"Definitely not," he affirmed, ignoring my uncertain stutters. "Why are you here, Massie?" At least he didn't ask me to sign that petition.

Exhaling, I answered, "I just saw The Cavaliers show. They were great. Much better than Thumpback Whale." The latter statement would have more validity if I had any inkling as to who the hell Thumpback Whale was. Regardless, my enthusiasm had returned when I started talking about their performance.

That wasn't the only thing that returned. "Two, piping hot, delicious gyros," Cam announced when he came back, handing me wrapped pita bread with meat and vegetable filling. The smell was enough to make my mouth water.

"Who's this?" Landon questioned, gazing suspiciously at Cam. The way Cam's eyes slightly widened indicated that he just noticed Landon's presence.

"Oh, uh, this is Cam," I explained, awkwardly pointing to him. "Cam, this is, um, Landon. Landon Crane." Clearly, I was a shoo-in for the Most Uncomfortable Introduction award at the next Socially Inept Accolade Banquet.

Chill as ever, Cam extended a hand for Landon to shake. "Hey, man," he said easily.

Landon shook his hand, albeit hesitantly. "Hi?"

The tension was growing, I could feel it. Landon clearly wasn't pleased with Cam being there, and Cam was, well, unreadable as ever. Hoping to start some kind of conversation, I took a huge bite of the gyro and said, "Man, this is awesome," as I chewed. I guess I'll also have to accept the Least Ladylike award as well. "Is this veal? I love veal. Veal is the best." No, it's not. I like veal, but it was nothing compared to chicken.

Landon cringed. "Do you what you're eating, Massie?" I swallowed my food with a gulp. "Baby cattle. Imagine children being sent off to a slaughterhouse only to be stuffed in a some Greek sandwich." You know the disapproving vegans who make you feel like shit for enjoying meat products? Landon is one of those.

(Not that all vegans are like that. But we all know the kinds I'm talking about.)

Next to me, I could hear Cam let out of the tiniest of snorts. "I don't think veal is the same thing as child slaughterhouse meat," I said slowly. "Definitely not."

He shrugged. "Your conscience." Thanks, buddy. Now my conscience feels like some sick cannibal who stakes out Little League games looking for dinner.

Luckily, Cam attempted to be civil and diffuse the awkwardness. Unluckily, he decided to ask, "So, how do you two know each other?" Of all the questions he could have asked—including '_how much should I pay a prostitute in advance_?' or '_what's your favorite brand of tampons_?'—he had to ask that one.

Landon laughed loftily and turned to me. "You haven't told him?"

Playing dumb seemed like a good idea then. "Tell him what?" I prayed he would suddenly become a mute.

"We used to date," Landon revealed to Cam, who had suddenly went very still, "we were pretty serious—"

"Pretty _unserious_, if you ask me," I chuckled nervously, as if a joke would make it any less weird that my ex-boyfriend and my, uh, good buddy Cam were speaking.

Raising an eyebrow, Landon quipped, "I'm surprised she didn't tell you, given the whole..." He gestured to the two of us.

I couldn't help but blurt out, "Given the whole what?"

He stared at me like it was totally obvious. "Aren't you two together?"

Cam didn't make a move, leaving me to hastily say, 'What? Us? Together? No, we're just friends. You know, amigos? Comrades. Chums. Mates. But not like sexually reproducing animals or something. Like the way English people use it." Oh, God. Somebody shoot me now. I should have my rights to free speech revoked.

Yet it only continued. "It's just, uh, two friends. Going to see a concert together. As friends. Doing friend-like things..." Exam-Grader-Person, there has never been a worse recorded case of word vomit than that moment. "As friends," I finished. "Just friends."

"Oh," Landon replied simply. "My mistake." Cam didn't add anything, not even some satirical line on my spiel or a piece of his typical cryptic musings. Landon glanced at his watch and said, "Well, I'd better get back to petitioning. Nice seeing you again, Massie. And, uh, nice meeting your _friend_, Cam."

The second Landon stalked off, I had to fight every urge to dry-heave. I had no clue why I felt so frazzled, like my entire nervous system chugged down a crate of Red Bull and pixie sticks. Cam was my friend, so there should have been nothing weird about saying so. Save for the superfluous speech, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Right?

Finally, Cam broke his odd silence. "So," he began, looking at me peculiarly, "that's the ex-boyfriend."

As my cheeks burned, I managed to say, "Yup."

"He's cute," Cam deadpanned with a wry grin.

I had never been so grateful to hear his sarcastic tones. Sarcasm meant joking. And joking meant '_we're cool, no worries_.' "You should see him shirtless." I stopped and he looked slightly taken aback. "I don't mean to sound so weird," I backtracked apologetically, "honest."

He didn't laugh like I had hoped. "And you two were serious?" he queried carefully, not particularly curious or indifferent.

"I wouldn't describe it as _serious_ serious," I mumbled, "I could never eat meat around him."

No snicker there. "Just wondering," he muttered, before inhaling deeply and looking at the time. "We should probably leave now, they're already locking up." I hadn't noticed the cluster of janitors beginning their night's work.

"Yeah, sounds good. It's getting late, anyway." Except it was only eleven-thirty, and I didn't have to be home until one and in the car Cam mentioned something about an all-night movie theater that showed cheesy sci-fi flicks that he wanted to visit. Well, he wanted "_us_" to visit. Though an "_us_" sounded incredibly far-fetched then.

The trek back to his car was unnaturally quiet. The only sounds were off the whistling tree branches in the wind and the occasional car horn beeping in the distance. In the back of my mind, I knew that something between us had changed. Maybe a little something, but a something nonetheless. And because of that something, the wall between we thought we had demolished was rebuilding itself, silence by never-ending silence.

* * *

**author's note: Yikes, ex-boyfriends and word vomit and walls being built up again. At least Massie has gyros to keep her company :)**

**Once again, thank you all so much for the feedback for the last chapter! You guys are really fantastic and I mean that from the deepest bottom of my cold heart.**

**Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter as well! It was probably one of the most fun to write :D Reviews are always appreciated**

**xo,**

**Ren**

**PS: Thanks to everyone who asked about my sister's wedding. Being a bridesmaid was fun, but I'd rather be a Cavaliers show with Cam Fisher any day :)**


	10. the art of honesty and how to fake it

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

**_Prompt: Write a detailed narrative or essay on a person who has had a profound impact on your life._**

* * *

"Ugh, I can't believe you dated Landon Crane," was all Dylan said when I recounted the disastrous events of the concert to her over the phone the next day—focusing mainly on my awkward run in Landon and Cam's subsequent distance. Even though we had broken up ages ago, the idea of Landon and me still disgusted her to this day. She had noticed his pompousness the very first day she met him, back when I was blinded by his whole pseudo-intellectual schtick.

I rolled my eyes. "Look at the bigger picture, man." Usually, Leesh was my go-to girl for boy advice, but she was blissfully in Chris Abeleyland and therefore could not fathom the notion of interpersonal relationship failure.

"What's to look at?" she snorted, the chomping of her Chex Mix amplified on my cell phone. "It's completely obvious."

"What is?" I asked dully.

I could practically see her shoulders sagging in disappointment at my failure to grasp simple concepts. "Think about it, Mass. You go to a concert with Cam, alone. You guys are having a grand old time, but wait! You run into your ex-boyfriend, who unsurprisingly acts like a total douchebag. And oh yeah, you talk about how you and Cam are just friends and not anything else. He's suddenly all quiet and somber and other sad adjectives. Just think about it."

And I did think about it. Isaac Newton once said, "Truth is ever to be found in simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things." But the problem for me was this wasn't simple, no matter how easily Dylan put it. There were too many other factors at play for me to find the truth. Yet.

My silence ended up giving my confusion away. "Oh God," Dylan muttered under her breath, "You are the stupidest smart person in history, do you know that?"

"Always tender with my feelings, aren't you?"

"Massie," she began with a bittersweet chuckle, "Cam's jealous."

Jealous? That word was simply not on my radar, unless it was a feeling I reserved for those brainy eleven year olds who graduate cumma sum laude at Harvard or days when I'm feeling particularly plain and have to be subjected to the likes of Olivia. "Of what?" I stammered, in shock.

"Of Landon! You dated the asshole for months!"

"Why the hell would he be jealous of Landon?"

I heard a smack on the other line, which could only be Dyl hitting her head out of frustration. "Good golly gosh, Massie," she said airily, in a ditzy tone dripping with 'duh', "maybe it could be because Cam likes you? And because no guy wants the see the girl he likes falling to pieces around her ex-boyfriend? Or telling said ex-boyfriend that he and the girl he likes are 'just friends' like the idea of them being anything more is preposterous?"

Shit. Well, then. Exam-Grader-Person, I wanted to believe her. I wanted to hold on to the thought that Cam was harboring secret feelings for me, but my Achilles heel was my naturally doubtful mind. Hypothesis, evidence, data, conclusion— the scientific method was, unconsciously, applied to almost every uncertain aspect of my everyday life. I mean, this was Cam. Nice, introspective, albeit cryptic Cam who could date any girl in the school if he really wanted to. If he would break up with Olivia, who was gorgeous and charismatic and never slipped up, what chance did I have?

Maybe Cam was wrong, and I was just as cynical as I unwittingly believed I was.

Sighing, I responded, "Come on, let's be realistic here. There's nothing between me and Cam, okay? And he definitely doesn't like me that way. Don't be ridiculous."

For a second, her dulcet tones were replaced by a strikingly different one I wasn't accustomed to hearing in my happy-go-lucky friend. Pleading. Knowing. Cautious. "Don't be so blind."

* * *

Despite my doubts, I decided to IM Cam just to test our current footing. Even behind a computer, you can still tell how someone feels toward you. Their words aren't as surreptitious as they thought. Plus, I needed to know if he was still put off by the concert aftermath and Landon.

**massiekur: **hey, long time no see.

**massiekur:** see, it's funny because i saw you like a few days ago.

**massiekur:** haha, guffaw?

To my relief, he replied within seconds. Well fifty-three seconds later. Not that I was counting.

**reelbigfisher: **if you have to explain a joke, it's clearly not as guffaw-worthy as you think it is.

**massiekur: **maybe the joke was that i had to explain the joke? like you're getting deeper and deeper inside the joke.

**reelbigfisher**: inception style, nice.

**massiekur:** right? leonardo dicaprio can do no wrong in my eyes.

**reelbigfisher:** even if he lit a crate of kittens on fire in front of an orphanage?

**massiekur:**...do the kittens belong to the orphans?

**reelbigfisher:** does that actually matter?

**massiekur:** well kinda. the kitten burning would be made worse if their orphan owners had to watch.

**reelbigfisher:** for the sake of the hypothetical, the kittens do indeed belong to the orphans.

**massiekur:** how many kittens are there?

**reelbigfisher:** enough to make the orphans cry.

**massiekur: **i don't know about this situation, though. i have bias because i'm kind of a dog person.

**reelbigfisher:** you're also kind of a terrible person, what with not caring about the burning kittens.

**massiekur: **i aim to please, fisher.

Though the conversation seemed shallow at best, at least he was able to joke around with me. Really, I needed that. In fact, I thought maybe we could forget the whole fiasco and move on with our friendship without any more bumps. Until..

**massiekur:** so, me, leesh, and dyl are going bowling tonight. wanna come with?

**reelbigfisher:** nah, i'm about to go over to olivia's to teach her the finer points of thermodynamics for her chemistry test.

**massiekur:** oh, i see. good luck with that, it's a tricky subject.

**reelbigfisher:** tell me about it. have fun, though.

And we both said our respective goodbyes and signed off. Even though I sounded cordial enough, I knew "peace out, fisher" wasn't actually what I wanted to say:

**massiekur:**CAM WHY ARE YOU GOING TO OLIVIA'S HOUSE YOU GUYS JUST BROKE UP! DON'T YOU DARE RELAPSE INTO A RELATIONSHIP. THAT WOULD SUCK, OKAY? DO YOU LIKE ME? AND NOT AS A FRIEND, I MEAN LIKE LIKE. CAN'T WE JUST BE UPFRONT WITH EACH OTHER? FUCK. I HATE BOWLING.

But I didn't. Because nobody really says what they mean, anyway.

* * *

"May I have your attention, please?" Mrs. P trilled after her daily lecture in physics class. Usually, Cam and I spent class halfheartedly taking notes and playing tic-tac-toe or some other time-killing game. But, we were both strangely keeping our distance. Me because I was too busy stressing about college applications and the probability Cam and Olivia would get back together (scenario: she is so taken by his thermodynamics knowledge that they both end up exchanging body heat); Cam because, well, I didn't know.

He didn't do 'remote' well. Sometimes, he'd crack a joke or his eyes would light up at something said, but then those same eyes would cloud over and I'd lose that flicker of comfort once more. It seemed like the only times we could joke around was over IM, and even that wasn't up to our typical standard of friendship.

Of course, Dylan's theory that he was rattled over our encounter with Landon was only gaining evidence:

- Cam, who had became a fixture of our lunch table, was nowhere to be seen this entire week. Scratch that, because Leesh overheard Kristen talking about how she saw him Tuesday reading a book under a tree and how weird it was he wasn't hanging out with us, like he had taken to.

- During an interesting discussion in English lit class about the effects of former paramours, Dyl told a story about her friend who dated a "complete and total asshole" for a few months last year and was "too blind to see his complete and total assholeness". According to her, Cam seemed more into the tale than others.

- Cam was, unfortunately, spending quite a bit more time with Olivia under the guise of tutoring. Instead of joking around with me in the corridors, he could be seen at her locker, nodding his head with an enthralled expression at whatever she happened to be saying. This was only intensified when I happened to walk by.

In the end, all signs pointed to me possibly over thinking this. That was usually the most logical reason. _Usually_.

"Your projects will be due next Thursday," droned the teacher, "and I hope you have taken the generous work period to your advantage. Remember, it's a significant portion of your final grade. I look forward to seeing how you give our curriculum new life." Yada yada yada, Mrs. P always said that before projects and almost always ended up disappointed. Grand expectations had a way of doing that.

Cam leaned into me and said, "Wanna practice our speech over the weekend?" His tone was earnest, which could only be a good sign. Or that he just wanted to do well on this project. Either way.

"Definitely," I answered with a nod, "your house?"

He frowned. "Vidalia and Rowan are having a sculpture show in our backyard. Not the ideal place to work." With a slight smile, the events of the their star watching party flooded back to me. The night Cam had opened up to me, the night we really became friends.

I bit my lip out of habit. "My house, then?"

The bell rang in the background, and we both gathered our belongings. "Sounds good," he responded, "I'll be over at around one, if that's okay?"

My eyes flicked over to the door. Lo and behold, it was Olivia. She was the picture of casual boredom, school tie loosened and her hair pulled back artfully. Except, the megawatt smile she shone in Cam's direction only negated her nonchalant appearance.

I felt a pang in my stomach as Cam turned waved at her. "Cool," I mumbled.

He was halfway out the door when he replied, "Cool," not even caring to look back.

* * *

"Massie!_ ¡Despiértate! ¡Ahora!_" My blissful Saturday morning sleep was rudely interrupted by Inez and a newspaper, which she had been whacking me with. I had trudged back from another Friday night sleepover at Dyl's around eight AM and promptly retreated to my room to catch some much needed zzz's. I was so deep into my dream about Leonardo Dicaprio (Titanic era, of course) and his puppy caring business that I didn't notice her enter my room, let alone assault me to wake up.

"_¿Por qué?"_I murmured, clutching onto my blanket for dear life.

She ripped the blanket from my body, cruelly exposing me to the cold. "Because," she tutted impatiently, "there is somebody here to see you!"

"If it's Dylan or Alicia, tell them to the get the hell out." Seriously, don't mess with me and my precious sleep.

Inez groaned. "It is not Alicia or Dylan. Dios." She put a hand over her heart and sighed, "It's a boy."

That certainly caught my attention. I shot up from my bed, wiping away the trail of drool on my face. "A boy? Who? What did he look like?" I knew it had to be Cam, but a little confirmation couldn't hurt. Plus, part of me was dying to know what kind of impression Cam had made on Inez.

She grinned at me knowingly. "So now you want to wake up?" Ignoring her smart remark, I hopped out of bed and started pulling some clean clothes on. My clock read 1:42, and that could only mean that not only was Cam Fisher in my house, but he had been waiting for ages. I sprinted to the bathroom to wash my face and do something with my unruly hair. Honestly, I'd kill to be like Leesh, who looked gorgeous even after a rough night, or Dyl, who would just punch the face of anyone who said otherwise.

"He's nice, Massie," mused Inez as she studied my attempts to pull myself together, "and those eyes. They're.." She didn't finish her sentence, just whistled approvingly. "Is he your boyfriend?

I snorted. "No. I would tell you if I had a boyfriend, just so hell could freeze over and pigs could fly accordingly."

"Do you like him?"

"He's just my friend, we're working on a project."

She smirked. "Do you always fix up your hair for your friends?"

I threw the hairbrush in my hands on the ground and coaxed my hair in a ponytail. "Yes. In fact, I do."

Her eyes were burning on me, so I didn't risk the potential embarrassment of sneaking one last look at myself before I descended down the stairs. The clock read 1:50, it was now or never.

Inez clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. The gesture said it all.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes a bit. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, gingerly pushing my overgrown bangs back from my face, "He's just nice. That's all, nice._ Nice_."

* * *

"Hey there." When I finally made my way downstairs, I found Cam sitting peacefully in the kitchen. He was eating this stew Inez had made and just reading a tattered paperback he had undoubtedly borrowed from the sprawling bookshelf in the adjacent study. He looked perfectly at home, almost like I was the stranger here.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile, putting down the book. "Nice nap?"

My cheeks flushed. "It was, uh, okay. Sorry for keeping you waiting."

"Nah, it's cool," he replied. "Inez is a kick-ass cook. Plus," he added, holding up my battered copy of Flowers for Algernon, "I got to catch up on my reading."

"Nice choice. It's one of my favorites," I admitted sheepishly.

"Me too," he remarked casually before setting it down. That simple preference made all the difference, I just don't think he saw it. "Shall we get to work?" For a moment, I had forgotten that he wasn't here to eat and read books and just be...him.

And I've gotta say, Exam-Grader-Person, the fleeting second of living in forgetfulness beats the reality of remembrance every single time.

Nonetheless, we practiced our speech for the following few hours. There were hints of playfulness and laughter, but for the most part, it was serious physics business. The assembly of note cards, the clicking of power point slides, the slight stutters in our speeches—to put it plainly, it was incredibly dull. Cam made it very clear that this needed to be perfect and subsequently focused all of his attention on it. Now, I usually commend people on their work ethic, but this was a tad too much.

"Cam," I began uneasily as he typed away on his laptop, leaving behind an overwhelming silence in his wake, "is something bothering you?"

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"It's just...uh, well," I stammered a bit, but I was determined to get my point across. "You're just, uh, quiet. Quieter than usual."

"You're pretty quiet yourself."

Nice counter. "Yeah, but your quiet is different," I pressed.

"There are different types of quiet?" Cam asked innocently, but his mismatched eyes were challenging me. That much was certain.

"There are two different types of quiet. There's the whole peaceful and relaxed sort of quiet, where you're so calm at the moment you don't even speak." I sounded like a haughty scientists presenting my thesis to the Noble Prize council. "And then there's the disrupted quiet, where something is wrong and thereby preventing you from opening up."

He snorted, but that mischievous spark in his eyes had returned. "Let me guess, I'm the second type of quiet?"  
"Correct."

Cam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "That's a pretty astute observation," he remarked thoughtfully.

My curiosity was piqued. "Are you saying it's true?"

"I can't deny I have problems, Mass," he responded cryptically, "doesn't everyone?"

"I'm interested in yours at the moment."

"Fine," he sighed dramatically and opened his eyes once more. He leaned into me carefully, close enough that could see nearly all the hues of blue and green in his stormy eyes. The gap between us was practically a sliver of open air, and I couldn't help but think of what would happen if either of us slipped and brought it all crashing down.

Staring intently at me, Cam cleared his throat and said in the lowest of voices, "I miss bank robberies, drug deals, and jaywalking escapades."

He. Was. Impossible.

"Ugh," I growled, pulling away from him huffily as he choked back a chuckle. "Was that necessary?"

In between his fit of laughter, Cam managed to say, "Yes it was, Dr. Block. Why are you curious about my feelings?"

Finally, something in me snapped. "_Because_!" I practically shrieked. "Because that after that concert everything got messed up! And you're acting like we're half-friends and I'd like go back to being full-friends, okay? It sucks."

My tirade was met with Cam being stunned speechless. Immediately, I regretted my outburst. "Shit. Sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that," I muttered, averting his gaze to cover my burning face.

"Massie," Cam began cautiously, "is that what you think? That we're just half-friends or whatever?"

"Well, kinda," I conceded hesitantly, "we've both been...distant."

"And why do you think that?" he asked, running his hands through his hair out of mild frustration. "I mean yeah, we've both distant, I guess."

"I don't know," I sighed, "I've just been stressed out lately with college applications and this project and..." _You_, I wanted to finish oh so badly.

He nodded his head in understanding. "Yeah, me too. It wasn't really intentional. And the concert, well, it's just..." He trailed off before going off in a different connection. I practically swallowed my own heart, there was something about the concert. Was Dylan actually right?

(I kinda hoped she was, "I told you so" be damned.)

"I don't know, but I'm sorry if I've been acting weird. I promise I didn't mean to, you know, make you feel bad or anything." There was nothing but total sincerity in his voice, and the veracity melted any tension between us to my utter relief.

I smiled. "Ditto." But since I was never one for heartwarming moments, I quickly added, "so can we talk about something else? Like how Kemp Hurley might get an A because his seduction tactics on Mrs. P are kinda starting to work?"

Cam laughed. "Seriously, it's so wrong. At first I was disgusted, but now I'm just intrigued as to how far he's gonna take it."

"This is Kemp. He won't stop until they're having a full blown affair and he's guaranteed A's for life."

"Maybe they'll make a terrible made-for-TV movie about the scandal and better looking people will play them?"

"Do you think somebody would play us, as the appalled students in the background when news of Mrs. P and Kemp hits the school?"

"One can only hope."

Cam ended up hanging out at my house for a few more hours, much to the absolute delight of Inez and myself (not that I would go admit it). We watched shitty made-for-TV movies and made fun of them without restraint. We listened to music, with the Cavaliers CD practically on repeat. We ate a feast prepared by Inez and he told us an insane story of involving an eight year old Cam, an unmanned Spanish yacht, and the Mediterranean.

Then somewhere along the lines—to this day I can't pinpoint the exact moment—between his clever comments at the bad movies or his flair for storytelling or the simple look of contentedness he got when his favorite song played amongst the backdrop of his genuine niceness, I thought, "_Wow. You're really something_."

And that was the moment I realized I was falling for Cam Fisher.

* * *

**author's note: Wow, I haven't updated in a bit. Sorry this chapter is all over the place, but I'm a little rusty. Big revelation at the end though, eh?**

**I hope you guys liked this chapter! Thanks for all the fantastic feed back on the last one!**

**Also, I've got some new stories up—a Plovert-centric multichap and a Kristen/Kemp oneshot, be sure to check them out :)  
**

**Thanks for reading,**

** Ren**

**PS: The Writers Lounge on the Clique forums are awesome and filled with even awesomer people, I highly recommend joining!  
**


	11. hold me closer, terrible dancer

**HIGHER LEVEL SECONDARY EXAMS (HLSE)**  
**WRITING PORTION (4 HOURS)**  
**STUDENT: MASSIE BLOCK**  
**ID: 4562485**

**_Prompt: Write a detailed narrative or essay on a person who has had a profound impact on your life._**

* * *

The funny thing about being aware of your feelings for someone is that you suddenly notice all the little things about them. When it came to Cam, I found myself in a strange state where I could be talking to him normally (as normally as I could manage, of course) and then I'd nearly stop mid-sentence because I saw he had a tiny dimple when he grinned or his green eyes had flecks of gold or that his nose wasn't quite straight, but I liked it anyway.

To be honest, I realized I liked a lot of things about him. His odd sense of style. His taste in music. His knowledge of the craziest information the science world had to offer—listen to him talk about Thomas Young's double-slit experiment and try _not_ to swoon, Exam-Grader-Person.

Yes. I tried and failed. Luckily, he continued on with his spiel and didn't notice me practically drooling. But what was really surprising of this whole liking Cam business was that I was pretty adept at keeping my newly realized feelings on the down low. Sure, I did enjoy his company a lot, but at the same time, I was still me. And I don't usually twirl my hair and bat my eyelashes and win the affections of boys. The occasional lingering look or secretive half-smile would have to do, even if flew right past him.

Because we were '_full-friends_', weren't we?

"Why haven't we gotten any letters from NYU yet?" Alicia whined one day. The three of us were perched under our usual tree, despite the chill of the changing weather. We were always there, rain or shine. It was nearly spring, I couldn't exactly fathom the fact that in a couple more months, I'd really be done with high school. Time passed quickly and slowly, and it was relieving to know that even nature couldn't make up it's mind. "I feel like we should be drowning in any college acceptance letters by now."

Dylan rubbed her coat-clad arms for warmth. "Dunno," she answered, "but Danny Robbins already got early admission into MIT and Harvard."

"Bastard," I muttered, not trying to hide my jealousy over his success.

"Still," Leesh pressed, "if I'm gonna get rejected from NYU—"

"You're not getting rejected!" Dyl and I said at the same time with equal indignation.

She sighed dramatically. "But if I was rejected, I'd rather it be sooner or later. Like, shit, don't prolong the pain. At this point, they're just hovering over my heart with a knife, waiting to strike—"

Her haunting anxieties were cut short by Dyl smothering her with her scarf. Leesh valiantly tried to fight back, but Dyl proved to be a stronger adversary. In a matter of seconds, Dyl was sitting contentedly on top of Leesh, whose cries for help were still muffled by a mouthful of yarn.

I looked pointedly at Dyl as I rested my head on my backpack to stretch out. "I'm not even going to say anything."

"Your eyes say it all, my friend," she chirped, adding in a maniacal laugh for her own kicks.

"Um, hey guys." My eyes unwillingly opened to the sight of Kristen, Olivia, and Claire looming over us. Instantly, I was hit with a wave of deja vu of another occasion where the three encountered us at our usual spot. But the difference here was that Kristen was in the middle with a toothy grin, while Olivia and Claire stood awkwardly in the background. Not that they were making it particularly obvious, what with their crossed arms and haughty expressions, but I have extensive experience in the realm of discomfort.

"Hi," I greeted her somewhat hesitantly while Dyl and the newly freed Leesh simply nodded in acknowledgment. It wasn't meant as an insult to Kristen as much as it was genuine confusion over why she of all people, would look so happy to see us.

Her smile didn't falter, bless her. "So, um, I just wanted to invite you guys to my birthday party. It's next Saturday." Digging into her hefty school bag, she pulled out three purple envelopes and handed them out to us. Claire rolled her eyes, but Olivia's poker face stayed strong.

"Thanks," I replied with genuine gratitude. "We'll definitely be there."

"Yeah," Leesh echoed, "I'm sure it'll be a blast." Even Dyl was pleased with the prospect of going.

"Great!" Kristen exclaimed with more enthusiasm than I expected from her. But then again, the general consensus was that this party was going to be a real bash to remember. It was common knowledge that Kristen's family wasn't as well off as the Ryans or the Lyons, but that made the prospect of her throwing a huge shindig all the more special. "It's at the Monterrey Hall and it starts at seven. There'll be lots of food and a band and—"

Claire cut in snidely, "It's on the invitation, Kris, spare them the summary." An Olivia-like comment coming from Claire, what a shocker. Olivia herself continued to do nothing, but every so often her pale blue eyes would survey me. But not disparagingly, like I was accustomed to, but just thoughtful. Like my whole existence to her needed re-evaluation. My eyes met hers, and her lips curled up contemptuously.

But then I remembered those same lips have kissed Cam, and I couldn't help but feel a sudden urge to kick something.

However, there were bigger fish to fry. "Where's Cam?" Kristen asked curiously, pulling out another envelope from her bag.

"He's sick," Olivia and I answered in unison before glancing at each other, bewildered. I only knew that because we had been talking on the phone last night under the guise of fixing the bibliography of our project. Lord knows what he and Olivia were discussing.

Kristen frowned in disappointment. "Oh," she said, "do you think you could give him the invite?" Here's the strange thing: her question was not directed to a particular person. Hell, you could even make a case that at the exact place she stood, she could understandably be addressing any of us. Or all of us. But not just one of us. To this day, I'm still left in a little wonderment.

My gaze flashed to Olivia, who made no move to take the invitation from Kristen's hands. Our eyes made contact once more, but there was something else in hers. She was challenging me. Would I be so daring as to take the envelope, even if that same envelope symbolized the boy we had both been entranced by?

The answer, to my simultaneous delight and amazement, was yes. "I can," I answered slowly, careful not to sound too eager at the prospect. She handed me the invite and I threw it haphazardly in my bag, all to help the illusion that I was doing this as a friend and not for any other possible reason.

Olivia nodded. A tiny, woefully imperceptible nod. Damn her.

"Can we go now?" Claire whined. I never thought I'd say this, but thank goodness for Claire. I didn't know how much more of Olivia's fixed stare I could handle. "I'm gonna catch a cold." Her eyes narrowed at us. "Or something much worse."

"I don't blame you for being cautious," Dyl replied innocently, "you probably haven't had all your shots." Leesh and I had to stifle our snorts, and Kristen coughed suspiciously, but with a conspiratorial smile. Why were we not friends with this girl?

The blond trio turned on their heels and parted from us, but the eyes of their leader stayed firmly in my mind, and I couldn't help but feel that something big was still to come.

* * *

Kristen's party came around much too soon. Word spread around the school, and it seemed like the only conversations being had were about potential outfits (_dress to the nines, natch_) or the quality of the band she hired (_some underground Strokes-lite_) or the possibility of any celebrities showing up (_with a friend like Olivia, you could never know_). I wondered if I only noticed this specific buzz of chatter because I had become part of it; it was all too easy to get caught up in the excitement.

At seven thirty-eight sharp (Leesh insisted on being fashionably late) that Saturday night, I was at the front steps of the Monterrey Hall. Unlike Olivia's infamous welcome party, there was no need to dress outlandish tonight, seeing as Leesh, Dyl, and I actually respected and liked Kristen enough to follow her dress code. For me, that meant borrowing a simple purple frock from Leesh along with a pair of nondescript black flats. Nice, but not overdoing it. Just to my preferences

"Get stoked!" Dyl yelled in my ear as we pushed our way past the throng of people. Her exuberance came out in full force when it came to parties. Leesh laughed and grabbed onto my arm for dear life. Nearly the entire junior and senior was there, undoubtedly breaking countless fire hazard rules.

Eventually, we made into the hall. Instantly, I felt a surge of respect for Kristen. She really outdid herself. The decorations were perfect—not too flashy or in your face. The band was decent, and everyone was having a great time, all dancing and laughing.

Dyl waved at a girl from the soccer team. "Time to mingle," she said to us, before cutting across the dance floor to greet her teammates.

The drama club situated themselves in the front, and I knew Leesh was itching to join in the middle of it all, which seemed to be a mini dance contest near the foot of the stage. But because she was a good friend (and wary of my ridiculous reaction the last time I was left alone at a party), she stayed behind with me.

"You can go," I finally said, after she had started tapping her feet to the music. "Really," I added to her disbelieving look, "I'll be fine."

And I would be. Because there was one person I could count on to hang out with tonight. A rather charming person with mismatched eyes that lit up when I handed him the invitation in physics class and said, "_I'll definitely be there_."

Leesh must've latched on to my train of thought. "Of course you will be," she teased, before shimmying away to the center of the crowd.

Sighing, I retreated to the back corner where all the drinks and food were. Partly because I was hungry, partly because I couldn't shake my innate wallflowerness, and partly because it's much easier to scan the extensive crowd for Cam from there.

A cheer let out and the band stopped playing. Kristen ambled onto the stage to more applause, looking the picture of an overjoyed birthday girl. She said into the microphone, "Thank you all for coming and helping me celebrate. It means a lot to me, really. Now, let's make them regret renting us this hall!" Her mini-speech was met the type of reaction the Beatles would've gotten. She strutted gracefully off the stage, and the band commenced playing a an upbeat tune that got nearly everyone on their feet and on the floor.

Nearly everyone.

For the next hour, I lamely hung around the food table, desperate for any sight of Cam. It was anguishing to be so eager to see him, but I couldn't help it. The time was spent by nibbling on food, listening intently to the music, and making awkward small talk with the other lonely denizens there. Every so often, Dyl or Leesh would break off from their respective groups and drag me onto the dance floor, but they couldn't keep me there for more than a couple songs. That back table and I had a magnetic bond.

Finally, Cam walked into the party at a quarter till nine. I was beginning to think that punctuality wasn't one of his strong suits. Anyway, I had been discussing an upcoming history test with Dahn Bondok when I noticed his lanky figure saunter in. As expected, his attempts to dress up were mildly unsuccessful, but admirable nonetheless. His eye caught mine, and he waved with a smile before making his way over to me. But he hit a speed bump on the trip there.

Olivia had even better Cam-senses than I did. Within seconds of his entrance, she had attacked him with a quick hug and a brilliant smile. That show of affection made me sick to my stomach, and I tried to fight off the slight headache from the way my heart beat in my throat. It was only amplified by the fact she looked nauseatingly gorgeous in her skintight black dress and meticulously styled hair. Cam seemed to appreciate the effort, judging by the way he didn't protest when Olivia whispered in his ear and then led him into the pulsating crowd.

"I think I'm going to fail," I told Dahn, though I wasn't sure if I was talking about the lasting effects of the Cold War anymore.

Twenty minutes of sulking and watching Cam and Olivia now talking intently at a lone table got me to thinking. If Cam could have fun with a girl, why couldn't I go out and have a grand old time with some guy? We weren't in a relationship, and granted I did have feelings for the boy, that shouldn't reduce me to some blubbering and insufferable mess. I was young! And free! Who the hell was he to make me feel so pathetic?

I just had to find a willing partner.

The nausea transformed into a fierce determination, something that almost always had awful consequences for me. Not that I minded. In that moment, I wasn't going to think any more, just act. There was nothing to lose.

Target acquired. "Kemp!" I shouted over the music, spotting him swaying from side to side on the fringes of the crowd. Despite Kristen adamantly not serving any alcohol, he was as drunk as could be. Go figure. His bloodshot eyes flicked down at me in surprise, but I didn't blame him. How often did I speak to him willingly, especially outside of school? Firmly, I grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor with me. "Dance with me!" I said it animatedly, but we both knew it was a demand.

Kemp shrugged carelessly. The second we were on the floor, his slovenliness dissolved into pure drunken mania. His energy exceeded everyone else's, and needless to say, he was dead set on me doing the same.

"Come on, Massie!" Bobbing his head almost violently to the music, he thrashed from side to side in a jerking motion to the drum beat. "You said you wanted to dance!" His breath was hot on my face, smelling sourly of tequila and vodka.

Regardless, I couldn't help but laugh at him. At least I was spared from the dreaded grinding everyone else seemed to be undergoing. "Fine!" I mimicked his crazy movements self-consciously, but the more I saw how completely inhibited Kemp was, the more I let myself go. Before I knew it, I was twirling and spinning and jumping in time to the music. We were quite a spectacle, but I was steadfast on not over-thinking anymore, and Kemp was too drunk to care.

I couldn't have imagined a better pair. Well, I could have. As Kemp sloppily tried to teach me a move called 'The Cyclone'—which was actually his version of the twist—I caught a glimpse of Cam and Olivia. They were still sitting at a table, but they were watching Kemp and me curiously. At least, Olivia was. Cam's face was agonizingly unreadable. Typical.

I tried to stay in the zone and fight off the swirling images of the two sitting so close to each other and having some wonderfully secretive conversation. Instead, I kept up dancing with Kemp for several more songs, even though he was beginning to sing along to the band very badly. Admittedly, I did make a bit of a show by giggling harder than I should have. But I was genuinely having a nice time.

But then, the melody slowed down and the lights dimmed. It didn't take a genius to know what was coming next: the slow song—champion of couples everywhere and detriment to singletons.

Taking advantage of the short break between songs to catch my breath, I looked over expectantly at Kemp and silently shrugged at the people pairing off around us. Even in his intoxicated state, he knew what I was inferring.

"Oh, no," he chuckled, throwing his hands in the air in defeat, "oh, no."

My cheeks burned. Facing rejection from Kemp Hurley was not on tonight's agenda. "Why not?" I tried to keep my tone playful, but on the inside I wanted to shake him and screech, "You're ruining everything!"

"Because," Kemp slurred, leaning in closer as if he was divulging a major secret, "_camel hill me_."

I scoffed, confused. "What?" Clearly, he was more sloshed than I thought.

He struggled to keep his balance, a task made all the more difficult given how hard he was laughing at me for not understanding him. "_Cam_," he said slowly, "he'll kill me." At first, I had to suppress a snort at the notion of raised-by-hippies Cam harming anyone. But then, my face heated up for an entirely different reason.

"Oh," was all I could say, overwrought with a frenzy of thoughts. Was Kemp being serious, or was this just a case of drunk word vomit? Then again, if he could barely stand straight, I had to doubt his abilities to lie coherently. But assuming he was correct, why exactly would Cam be upset? And how would Kemp know that—

I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" Speak of the devil. Cam's sudden appearance only increased Kemp's hysteria.

"Of course you can," he garbled. "Don't have too much fun, now." Winking at me wolfishly, he clapped Cam on the shoulder and stumbled away to go dance obnoxiously on some kissing couple.

Cam turned to me with a mischievous grin. "Shall we?" At a loss for words, I simply nodded. Gingerly, he placed one hand on my hip and the other in mine, and I settled my other hand on his shoulder. For a second, I had to weigh how cliched it was. I mean, shit, I could've rested my head on the upper part of his chest so my hair could tickle his chin and we could gaze at each other romantically to the hum of some overplayed radio love song. This was the stuff of teen movies.

But we didn't, and I wouldn't have wanted to. The electricity that seemed to radiate off of his hand was thrilling enough. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek out of habit and said, "So."

"So?" he repeated. Cam was a better dancer than I would have predicted, he was smooth and light in his step without looking like he was putting too much thought in it. If you could get a degree in 'being effortless', he would receive a PhD, full stop.

"We're dancing." No, we were flying a damn rocket ship to the moon. Goodness.

He laughed. "That was sort of the idea. And also to save you from the wrath of Mrs. P from dancing with her man." He feigned seriousness, but I could spot his wit from a mile away.

A snort escaped from my lips. "How could I be so careless? We'll never be in that made-for-TV movie, will we?"

"Not at this rate." He let out a tiny cough. "You looked like you were having fun, though," he commented. His tone was friendly but his eyes gave him away. There was a definite underlying bitterness swirling around in them, something that put a tiny smirk on my face. Even a hint of riled-up Cam was welcome. It wasn't fair he got to be so collected all the time, after all.

"Yeah, I did," I replied cheerily, "Kemp's got some moves." Cam raised an eyebrow skeptically, but I could tell that wasn't the response he was searching for. Hastily, I added, "Where have you been this whole party? I hardly saw you." Good, let him think I was too busy carousing to notice his presence or not.

His eyes locked with mine. "I was just...with Olivia."

I resolved not to show any change in emotions. "Ah, doing what?"

"Just, you know, talking. About stuff." Now, he was the one who was squirming. If I hadn't been enjoying his fidgeting so much, you better believe I would be trying not to seethe out of envy. The low voices, the serious looks, the way she would casually move closer to him as he spoke. When it came to being effortless, Olivia was his perfect match.

Forcing myself to smile wryly, I mused, "What a way to spend a party."

He exhaled slowly and his stare flicked up to the colorful lights surrounding us, and then back down to me. "Yeah," he said simply, and my hopes sank down to my stomach. Of course he would have fun with her. How naive of me to think prancing around stupidly with Kemp would change anything or make him think twice about me. Classic me, finding imperceptible signs in the most obscure places, trying to piece them to make sense of whatever situation I found myself in. If only I could accept the truth, and the truth was that for all my big talk, I couldn't figure anything out.

"But this is pretty nice, too." Cam jokingly dipped me, and suddenly my heart beat and the drum beat were synchronized in a spectacular rhythm.

We swayed to the music in a peaceful silence, and I tried not to have a mini anxiety attack when Cam lightly pulled me closer. Except, it was probably because a rush of people were running behind me. Probably.

* * *

**AN: Sorry for the delay in posting this and being M.I.A. in general. I went on a family trip, and so me and FF were forced to take a little break. I should've posted this earlier, though :p**

**Thank you so much for all the amazing feedback for the last chapter! You guys are really something great. Tell me what you think of this one!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Ren**


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